Daughter of Winterfell

by prettycreepy

In a world on fire, Sansa Stark begins the perilous journey of reclaiming her life, her family, and her destiny. AU, contains story lines from the television and book series.

3. Chapter 3

"Are you feeling unwell? I have to apologize, I didn't consider..." Aegon rambled, helping her down into a chair.

His tent stood less than fifty feet from her own but that short distance had been enough to tire her out. She was breathing in loud shallow breaths that ended in faint little wheezes that gripped his heart fear each time he heard one. Her face was nearly as red as her hair and her forehead was dotted with perspiration, something else that alarmed him greatly. "I can call for maester Percival or Maggie if you'd like."

Sansa waved her hand and made an effort at sitting up straight in her chair, untying her cloak and letting it hang loosely about her shoulders. "I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine. There's no need to worry."

Somehow Aegon felt that he had cause to doubt this statement but decided not to argue the point and went to grab a blanket, then thought better of it and grabbed two.

What had he been thinking? Why in the world would he drag her out into the cold like that? It had been a habit to see guests on his terms more than anything and he regretted his lack of thought. 'I do say, you've earned yourself quite the earful from Maggie…' He took another look at Sansa's tired, flushed face and knew he deserved it.

Being nothing more than a sometimes dining area the tent was sparsely furnished, but it held a chest, a brazier, a table and a pair of chairs, one of which Sansa now occupied. He saw to it that she was moved closer to the brazier and sufficiently nestled in blankets before sitting down across from her with a pitcher and two cups one of the pages had brought in.

Sansa did not wait for him to finish pouring before setting in on the inquisition he had known was coming.

"This army of yours… They call it the Golden Company. Some say it reaches upwards of 10,000 men."

"It did." Aegon answered, finding no reason to hide the truth. "The journey from Esssos was... difficult to say the least. I lost over a thousand men." He handed her a cup full of warm, spiced wine, hoping it would help. "Some ships fell prey to the waves, others to Euron Greyjoy's fleet. All in all, I'm not sure which fate would have been worse, but I grieve for each life lost along the way." No lie there, either.

"Seems like a heavy burden for one person to bear..." She stated, leaning forward slightly to grab the cup, the effort this took clear in her face. "Thank you." She said, holding the warm cup with both hands. She took a tentative sip and finding the drink at least somewhat palatable, took another sip.

"What else is a king's duty but to bear that burden? So many before me have been jaded by power, blind to the needs and the suffering of the people. If we continue on like this there'll be no one left in Westeros to rule." He smiled, pouring himself a cup of the spiced wine. The fragrant steam rolled off it as he moved the cup under his nose, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the small tent.

"In regards to Westeros, I have to admit, I'm surprised that you're here in the North and not waging war on Cersei in the South. We both know you don't need my men, so why come?" Her face held the faintest hint of curiosity but showed little else as she sipped her wine.

Aegon sat back, balancing his cup on his knee. "That." He said, a meager smile on his face. It's not that he wasn't prepared for that particular question, it was one he'd been forced to answer over and over again ever since he'd made the decision. The difficulty was, there was no good answer, only a strong intuition and the advice of a curious witch he'd met in Essos more than a year past.

He opted to answer cautiously, picking the most generic reason in his arsenal. "Every period of peace on this continent has seen a Stark in Winterfell and a Targaryen on the throne."

"And?" She asked, one shrew eyebrow raised. "You can't expect me to believe you brought your army all the way here because of something so inconsequential."

He should have known that such a simplistic answer wouldn't have been enough to quell her query. Honesty, then.

"I tell you this at the risk of sounding foolish, but know that if I didn't believe it with my entire being I wouldn't have brought my army here."

"Very well." Sansa said, the look of curiosity on her face growing, though now mixed with a touch of apprehension.

"There is something coming. I don't know exactly what or when, but it is, and it's coming here." He saw the uncertainty in her eyes and hurried to clarify. "All my life I've never been one to subscribe to prophecies or magic... and then my aunt single handedly brought dragons back from extinction." He smiled ruefully at the memory and the outrageous jealousy he had felt towards Daenerys at the time. That was before the reports of the troubles with the dragons started to leak from the east. Now he counted himself lucky that the largest beasts under his control were elephants. "Thanks to this, when I revealed myself to the world as a Targaryen I was approached by many, including a very persistent red priestess of R'hllor. She begged for an audience with me for seven days and seven nights before I finally gave in. I listened to what she had to say and then sent her on her way, largely forgetting the experience."

"And?"

"And then that bloody woman's words began to come true." He said ruefully. "She spoke of the downfall of the final Baratheon, and the destruction of the holiest place in the kingdoms."

"Stannis and the Great Sept? Did she make any other claims?" Sansa asked, her interest seemingly piqued enough to give him a fair opportunity to make his case.

"Two more, to be precise. That the wall between the living and the dead will fall, and that a great battle ensues between them."

She scoffed. "The wall has stood for thousands of years."

"I know." He answered, taking a long drink from his cup, letting the spicy scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fill his nose before continuing. "And dragons have been dead from the world for hundreds of years, and yet three roam the skies of Essos. Still, there is every chance that it was meant metaphorically."

"That the Night's Watch will fall?" She asked, a sudden and surprising tenseness to her body.

"I think that it's the most likely eventuality, yes."

She seemed to chew this over in her mind and her brow furrowed as she stared into the brazier. She began to speak, not looking away from the fire. "My half brother, Jon Snow, is the Lord - Commander of the Night's Watch. Have you tried to send word to them, warn them of what is coming?"

"I have not." He answered, knowing he was treading in delicate territory. "To be quite honest with you, I've told very few people about the witch and her prophecies. I was hoping to discover this enemy of death before trying to convince people of its existence."

"I can see the sense in that, but if what you say is true the entire North should be preparing for this."

"Are you saying that you believe me? That all of this isn't simply a fantastic string of coincidences."

She smirked at that, her face transforming in the action of it. "Some people say there's no such thing as a coincidence. And no, not quite, but I can't say that I don't believe it either. I think you've done well to keep this to yourself for the time being, but I think that time is coming to an end. I suggest you find the proof you seek before time runs out."

"I think you may be right. Either way, I will get to the bottom of the matter before heading south again. If I am to fight a war on two fronts, I would like to meet my new opponent."

Before Aegon could get another word out Maggie burst in through the tent flap, bringing with her a fresh gust of cold air and a page with a pot and two cups. "My king." Maggie said, barely giving him a glance as she walked by to check on Sansa. "My lady, how are you feeling?" She placed one withered hand on the young woman's forehead, feeling for a fever. Finding none, she moved to the pot and it's mysterious and aromatic contents.

"I'm quite well enough for now, thank you Maggie." Sansa answered, watching the woman with a tinge of entertainment in her eyes.

Aegon kept a straight face as Maggie purposefully set an earthenware cup in front of him and slowly poured broth into it, her face daring him to say something. Instead, Aegon thanked her with utmost courtesy, took the cup in both hands, and sipped it solemnly.

Only when Maggie was well away from the tent did Sansa laugh and the sound of it warmed his heart.

"Can you not find the priestess again?" Sansa asked between sips of broth. "Perhaps she could recount this prophecy?"

"I've tried. I've tried to find her and find this mysterious enemy, to no avail."

"Could it be your aunt?"

Aegon shrugged. "I can't say that it didn't cross my mind, but everything we're hearing confirms she's still in Slaver's Bay with her hands more than full trying to keep her free cities free. Nor is she dead, so far as I know."

She asked more questions about his forces and his campaign so far, but also of specific individuals, all of which he answered to the best of his ability. He had no news of her sister or younger brothers, but he had heard rumors of Brienne of Tarth still being in the area, to which he offered to send out a search party. His inner circle was composed of men entirely loyal to his cause, but he recognized that a majority of his army was still composed of sellswords. It would do well to surround Sansa with people she could trust if she was to be kept safe during the battle to come.

When it seemed that she had reached the end of her queries Aegon posed one of his own.

"Much has been said about the day Joffery died and your possible role in it. They say you quite literally disappeared from sight. Some even say they saw you turn into a direwolf and run, leaping from rooftop to rooftop until you were free of the city."

Sansa laughed at the mental image that produced, setting down her glass. "I must regretfully inform you that I'm unable to turn into a direwolf, though I don't believe that's what you're asking."

"What a shame." He said, smiling. "It would have been most useful on the battlefield, but no. You're right. That's not what I'm asking."

"You want to know if I killed Joffrey, and if I didn't, who I think did." She stated bluntly, looking directly at him. At his nod, she sighed a little. "I only know for certain that Petyr Baelish was involved, he told me as much. It was his man that helped me flee the city, and his ship conveniently waiting to take me away at the precise moment I would need it. At the very least he knew it was going to happen."

Aegon took all this in, carefully turning it over in his mind. It led naturally into the next thing he wanted to ask her, so he went for it. "I've heard quite a bit about this Petyr Baelish, one of those being that he was responsible for brokeraging your marriage to Ramsay. Another is that he killed your aunt but managed to pass it off as a suicide."

He made this statement so abruptly and with such nonchalance that she didn't have time to fix her face and he saw just a glimpse of her inner workings before she regained control. No matter though, he knew enough for now. "I have a very good spymaster." He said, answering the question in her eyes. He smiled ruefully, turning the cup around and around in his hands. "Baelish has been an industrious man throughout the years, rising as high as has. A man like that won't be satisfied with the Vale alone. He'll continue to try and destabilize the kingdoms until he has the means to take the throne."

Sansa blinked, and if Aegon wasn't mistaken, looked pleasantly surprised.

Aegon smiled and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I've listened to people underestimate Littlefinger for years to the detriment of themselves and their families, myself included, but you… I think you're one of the first people to recognize him for what he really is. You're a shrewd judge of character, Aegon Targaryen. It's a trait that will serve you well as king."

She didn't seem the type to use her words vainly, so he took the compliment to heart ."So you agree then, that he'll make a move for the throne?"

She nodded. "If he doesn't, what's all of this been for? He's been leveraging himself into higher positions for as long as I've known him."

"From his actions one could say he has a certain fondness for you, twisted as it might be. I don't wish to bring you any discomfort, but it was my intention to invite Petyr Baelish to join in the celebrations once we have reclaimed Winterfell."

Sansa tilted her head to the side a little, half stunned. "Why?"

"I wish to take the measure of him and then put him on trial in front of you and all the lords of the North and the Vale."

She showed no surprise, but something more akin to zeal, he thought. Once she was done turning over the idea in her head she spoke.

"If you can bring strong enough evidence I believe his lords will abandon him once they hear the charges. Their true alliance was to Jon Arryn, and now Robin. I know many of them personally. They're honorable men, they'll do the right thing. Getting Baelish here though… I mean no offense, but he'll be less inclined to come if the letter is from you. If you would allow it, I would write to him personally. If he believes he can still sway the North away from you, he'll be sure to be here."

"You have a very keen mind, my lady and I'm fortunate to have your council. Thank you."

"There is one more thing… I know what I said earlier, but I would ask that you postpone your attack on Winterfell. I would like the chance to summon my bannermen, or at least those few willing to stand up to Ramsay."

"Are you sure? It is as you said, everyday we wait could put more lives in jeopardy."

"And if it were only those few lives at stake I would ask you to go to battle tomorrow, but there's more at risk here. There's no point in taking back Winterfell if I can't hold the North. If we can't get the Northerners to accept our claims we'll be taking the castle back for nothing and they'll suffer all the same."

"Of course, my lady. I hear the wisdom in your words. I will heed your advice."

How could he not? He could see her mind working and analyzing behind her blue eyes, her face showing only what she wanted it to. She had the kind of intelligence that surpassed his own, and he was none too proud to admit that to himself. It was breathtaking to be around someone so refreshingly straightforward. He noted though, that the strength of her gaze was beginning to fade. The rosey flush of fever that had faded from her face while they'd talked was back and he felt a small flash of guilt and panic in response. He stood up, looking left and right for something to do. His eyes fell on the tent flap that led outside, that was a strong no, and then moved to the other, the small discreet opening that led directly to his own dwellings. He ducked outside the tent to have one of the guards summon Maggie.

He turned back to Sansa and knelt next to her chair, offering his hand. "You look unwell, it was unwise of me to push you like this. Please, come with me, I've summoned Maggie and she'll be here soon."

Sansa nodded blankly, taking a deep, audible breath. She gave him her hand and Aegon helped her from her chair, leading her towards the slit in the canvas. He realized how sparse it must seem, especially for a king, but it was comfortable, at least to him. He towed her directly towards the bed and helped her to remove her shoes as she sat perched on the edge, more than a little off kilter. It was at that moment that Maggie came bursting in, two women behind her. He recognized them, the two of them a pair of daughters of one of the lords of the Stormlands, though the name had left him. Maggie carried a bundle of medicines, obviously coming prepared. She directed one of the girls to retrieve some hot water and then came to stand beside Aegon as he helped Sansa lie back onto the bed. He tried to talk to her, but only received half sentences, slurred and distorted by fever.

He looked anxiously up at Maggie. "Is she going to be alright?"

Maggie gave Sansa's forehead a quick feel, then placed her hand on her chest. After a few quiet moments, Maggie shrugged. "It's hard to say. Her heartbeat is strong, but the fever is very high. She's delirious. If it goes on too long, it could have a permanent effect on her mind or worse, kill her altogether."

This seemed too much. The vibrant, calculating person he'd known for so short a time now sat again on the edge. "What can we do?"

"Keep her cool." Maggie said, already turning the blankets "If the fever was going to break on it's own it would have by now. We must get her awake long enough to take the Willow Bark tea."

"Keep her cool? The cold is what put her in this state to begin with-"

"Yes, and now it may very well help save her life. We won't make her so cold that she starts to chill, that can make things worse." Maggie was already peeling the furs away from Sansa's body, who immediately turned onto her side, curling into a ball as she clutched at her cloak.

"This is my fault, I never should have-"

"This isn't your fault. It's likely the fever would have come back no matter what." Dropping the rough attitude, a hint of the kind woman who helped raise him shining through. "Pray for her, my dear. I'll watch her for the night. Now, lets have her moved ba-"

"She can stay here. I'll find somewhere else to sleep when I need to." He pulled up a chair next to the side of bed, resting his elbows on his knees. He couldn't exactly explain the kinship he felt towards her, but it was there, and he didn't like the idea of having her moved again for the sake of his own comfort.

The bed was large, not like the small cot she'd been in the last time she woke up. Before she opened her eyes she reached out a hand, her fingertips brushing the edge of something soft and warm. That small touch of warmth was enough to alert her to the fact that she was absolutely freezing. She moved towards the warmth but it had disappeared, nowhere to be found. Reluctantly she opened her arching eyes, thankful to find the room dim. Beside her a figure moved, their back turned to the bed while they wrestled with something large. A moment later she was draped in blissful warmth, her body curling into it at once.

Aegon's face hovered several feet above her own, the skin under his eyes dark. He reached out a hand and placed it to her forehead and then her cheek. He dropped his hand with a sigh of relief, patting her shoulder. "Your fever's broken."

He called for Maggie who had been sleeping in the corner of the tent, a shawl pulled around her thin shoulders. Sansa blinked up at them both, forcing a smile for their benefit. "Good morning, or, is it night still?" Her voice was raspy, her throat dry from breathing in and out through her mouth while she slept.

"It's nearly dawn, my lady." Maggie answered, repeating the same movements Aegon had moments ago and apparently agreeing with his conclusion. "Would you like something to drink?"

Sansa accepted this offer with alacrity, the warm spiced wine soothing her throat and filling her empty stomach. She felt incredibly weak but thanks to the large fur she was no longer cold and her body was able to relax. "What happened?"

"Your fever came back, though hopefully for the last time." Maggie watched her carefully, encouraging her to drink more of the wine. "You'll need more rest to be sure. The wine will help you sleep. We'll give you some time, on your own."

Aegon looked less than enthused to be directed out of the tent but went along, glancing back over his shoulder with a wave as the tent flap closed.

Sansa sat for several moments, enjoying the warmth of the wine and fur and the simple comfort of it all. She was mostly awake but beginning to feel the effects of the wine and for the moment felt completely detached from her body and whatever discomfort it was feeling.

Eventually she sat up crossed legged in the bed, her mind following several threads of thought and unable to give her full attention to any of them, for centered in all of them was the enigma of the Targaryen king. The great mystery and promise that surrounded him was almost like that of the heroes from her childhood stories, something that troubled her greatly. It was so improbable that such a seemingly honest and well meaning person with no ulterior motives could exist, let alone be in a position such as his. And if the unlikely was true and he was as he presented himself, could a person like that actually become king, or would he be eaten alive by the likes of Cersei and Baelish?

Still, his presence of being was something so rare that there was no denying that he intrigued her. Of the three monarchs she'd had the displeasure of meeting, none of them held the kind of spark Aegon did.

And what of herself? Her life was almost assuredly tied to his and the outcome of his campaign now. She'd had her spirits soar high before, only to be crushed under reality's heavy boot and wasn't eager for a repeat performance. Still, with the cards she had in hand it was difficult to construct a different outcome, especially when Aegon could march on Winterfell with or without her if he wanted to. Without an army of her own she had no chance of beating him to it. Perhaps with time and the assistance of the Night's Watch she would have been able to put together a force capable of taking on Ramsay, but not the Golden Company.

There seemed to be only one way forward, so she would have to resolve to trust fate and hope that Aegon Targaryen was put on her path for a reason.

Later that morning near noon Sansa was woken up by Maggie gently shaking her shoulders and saying kind things, though this had little effect on Sansa's attitude. She wasn't altogether pleased to be woken in the first place, but her sore muscles were stiffened by the cold chill in the air and it made any initial movement a lengthy affair.

"How are you feeling? Any hint of fever?" Maggie asked, staring at Sansa critically.

"None." Sansa answered honestly, stretching her head from side to side. "Just incredibly tired."

"That's to be expected for sometime. You'd do well to keep your activity at a minimum for the time being."

"You mean, 'Try not to go traipsing about in the frozen wood'?"

"Exactly. Stay inside as much as possible."

"As much as possible? Am I going somewhere?"

Maggie looked annoyed as she glared over her shoulder towards the tent flap. "You've been summoned by the Hand of the King."

"Summoned? Why?"

"It seems that Jon would like to take his own measure of you now that you have been determined to survive, and cannot be bothered to wait until you are more recovered."

"Sounds like it's going to be a lovely time." Sansa said sarcastically as she began to dress.

While she walked into the war tent with an open mind one thing was immediately clear; Jon Connington did not trust her. She felt suspicion radiating from him the moment he laid eyes on her which made her instinctively defensive. The initial prospect of actually doing something had almost thrilled her in a way, making her all but forget about her pain as she stepped out into the bright winter morning. Now she was very cross and felt every ache and bruise on her body.

Jon took every opportunity he could invent to dig at her, asking her the same questions over and over to try and catch her in a lie, and only seemed to grow more aggravated when he could not.

"And, as far as Bolton's battle preparedness-''

"I've told you how many men Ramsay has. I've told you how many archers, mounts, and foot soldiers. You can keep asking, but the numbers aren't going to change." Sansa clenched her fists in her lap. Her patience was thin to begin with, and this intensive questioning was making it nearly nonexistent.

Just as Jon was opening his mouth to say something likely offensive, the tent flap was pushed aside and Aegon stepped inside, clearing his throat.

"Lady Sansa, I thank you for your forthcomingness and I must apologize for Lord Connington's manners." This was punctuated with a severe look at Jon, who had the good sense to look abashed. "It has been a long and arduous road to get here and I fear he has little faith in others. You never should have been taken from your bed in such a state, there is no excuse for this grievous error."

Sansa met Aegon's eyes levely and spoke to them both. "I have nothing to gain and everything to lose by lying to you. This is just another kingdom to you, but this is my home that is at stake. I trust you are familiar with the sigil of House Bolton?" Jon nodded curtly and Sansa narrowed her eyes. "Most of my people, the ones who served Winterfell since before my birth, have been flayed alive. He made me stand in the courtyard and watch it happen more times than I care to think about." The mere mention of it was enough to call back images of the brutality she had to stop for a moment while her stomach spun at the memory. After a few heartbeats she turned to Aegon with her eyes shining.

While she resented tears, she had to admit they had a certain effect on some of the male gender. "I cannot let a person like that rule the kingdom my family has spent centuries building. After our conversation last night, I would have thought to have found more sympathy and less judgment from your councillor."

Aegon looked as though he was going to say something, but Jon spoke first.

"My lady, I wish to beg for your forgiveness. It appears I have not fully considered how much you have personally suffered in all of this. I do not wish to offend you, and will not question your honesty again."

"Thank you." She answered stiffly. "Now, I believe I've told you everything that could possibly be of import at the moment. Unless there is something specific you would like to know, with the king's permission I would like to retire."

Aegon nodded, waving his hand in dismissal at Jon, who after a moment took the hint and left. "Of course my lady. The hour is late and we have neglected you. If you would give me the courtesy of sharing your company over dinner again, I think we could both have some conversation that doesn't involve the planning of war."

Sansa waited until Jon was clear of the tent flap, considering her answer. Deciding there was little else to do besides dine in her tent alone, she bobbed her head and then smiled. "That sounds lovely, thank you."

A short while later the two shared a meal seated opposite each other at a small table, both of them too occupied with food and their own thoughts to make much conversation. After they finished eating the dishes were cleared away and replaced with a decanter of wine. Sansa sipped at this absentmindedly while Aegon regalled her with tales of his childhood in Essos where he was forced to live under a false name.

"I used to dye my hair blue, you know." He said, picking up a piece of his now completely natural hair.

"What?" She said, chuckling a little as she tried to picture such a sight. "It makes sense, I suppose, but you don't think you could have picked something a little more… inconspicuous?"

"Probably, but Jon made the mistake of asking me, at a ripe age of four mind you, what color I would prefer."

Despite this curious adaptation to his appearance, Aegon was trained and educated like any prince would have been, all so that one day he could reclaim his birthright. All of this as it turned out was almost entirely due to the efforts of Jon Connington, and Sansa at once understood Aegon's complete trust of the older man. She was completely fascinated by Jon's seemingly unwavering loyalty to a fallen house and the tenacity the man must have to endure years of exile and seclusion for the sake of a child who was not his own. She couldn't fully understand it, but she could recognize it and the need not to question or test that bond.

After several hours of conversation Aegon rose and extended his arm to Sansa and led her back to her tent through the quiet darkness of the camp. Countless small fires burned to stave off the cold for the men that huddled around them, and she could smell the scent of spiced wine in the air.

They came to a stop just in front of Sansa's tent flap but she sensed Aegon's hesitation. She squeezed the arm that still held hers and he came back to himself, letting go.

"I apologize, it's just I've heard about the way Bolton burned Stannis' army. Should he discover our presence and have any similar inclination towards us or simply try to raid the camp, I would sleep better knowing you were armed." He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a long dagger, it's blade safely sheathed, and handed it to her. She took it, albeit uncomfortably, and turned it over a few times. "Have you used a dagger before?"

Sansa bit her lip, feeling a rush of embarrassment at the fact that she had handled maybe four weapons in her life, including the one she held now. Aegon saw at least some of this cross her face and simply smiled down at her kindly, squeezing her arm in reassurance.

"It's alright, mt lady. I'll teach you how to use it properly. It may even bring you some comfort, a sense of security."

He was right. It was twelve inches of cold, sharp steel and just the act of holding it in her hand was starting to give her a rush of empowerment. She stared at it in reverence for a moment and then raised her head to Aegon. "Thank you. It's a most thoughtful gift."

"One I hope you will never have cause to use. Goodnight, my lady. Rest well."

"Goodnight, your grace." She swept him a small curtsey and then slipped inside the tent, the smallest of smiles on her lips.

The next day it was decided that it was time for Sansa to summon what bannermen she could, though unfortunately this would include writing to her cousin Robyn and his guardian, Petyr Baelish. Beyond the sour taste in her mouth that appeared at the mere thought of Baelish, there was real danger in announcing to the world that she was in Aegon Targaryen's camp when everyone assumed her dead. At the moment the camp's location was still a secret but they all doubted that it would last much longer and were prepared for an eventual attack, covert or otherwise.

It was a long morning of drafting letter after letter, each one pleading the case for house Stark and of course, house Targaryen. Aegon, similarly engaged, was writing his own set, one to match each of Sansa's- save for the letter to Baelish. A seal with the Stark direwolf hastily made to Sansa's specifications was used to close the letters before they were sent off in pairs with messengers by Connington

Afterwards, the three of them shared a small lunch spent discussing the likelihood of which lords would respond and how it might improve their numbers. Jon was less outwardly hostile to her, but she could tell that he was keeping a very close eye on her. Having the ultimate security of knowing she was doing nothing wrong, Sansa decided not to let this bother her.

Directly after lunch they began a small tour of the camp, during which Aegon and Jon began introducing Sansa to officers of the different companies and informing them to expect soldiers from Sansa's bannermen as early as the next week.

She privately hoped that it would be sooner than that, but only time would tell.

Once all the greatest matters of import were attended to Aegon kept true to his word and two days later took Sansa out with a small guard and Jon so that she might practice wielding her new dagger without the prying eyes of hundreds of soldiers.

It was cold of course, but it was a cold she had lived with all her life and it didn't impair her movement. Under the eyes of the two very well trained men she was taught first how to hold the blade properly and where she should keep it hidden for easiest access. They made her demonstrate that she could properly draw the dagger at a moment's notice, all the while Aegon and Jon offering tips or stepping in to correct her posture. Eventually they moved to the business end of things and began to teach her the difference between an overhand and an upper hand strike, Aegon kindly volunteering himself as her sparring partner so that Jon could go on critiquing. They went on for hours, Aegon advancing with a blunt sword and Sansa attempting to either defend herself or get close enough to Aegon to land a blow with her wooden dagger.

Under Jon's instructions and after many days of practice she was eventually able to dodge a blow from Aegon, her blade miraculously pressed against his ribs.

"Very good." Jon said, clapping his hands together a few times, one corner of his mouth turned up. "You wouldn't have died that time."

Aegon smiled goodnaturedly at Jon and then at Sansa. "You have a talent for it. If you worked at it, you could be quite skilled, my lady."

Sansa was thoroughly exhausted and likely covered in fresh bruises, but she smiled with alacrity. "I think I should like that."

After some back and forth it was agreed that Aegon and Jon would personally see to Sansa's tutlege until such a time when a proper teacher could be found. They continued these lessons everyday while they waited for word or sight of Sansa's men, and since Sansa had little else to do with her time she focused all of her energy on it. She had no illusions of becoming a swordsman overnight, but she would do what she could with the time she had. She didn't want to be a hindrance, and if at all possible she didn't want to depend on someone else for her safety.

Even with this new endeavor to focus on each day Sansa's heart shrank a little more with the fear that no one would come.

She had even begun to doubt that Littlefinger would come as the tenth day came and went with no sign of anyone.

Outwardly she tried to remain positive, convinced that they had all just been delayed by the weather, which to its credit, had laid another six inches of snow on them over the last week. Worse case, they all could have chosen to ignore her summons, and while there was every possibility that such a happenstance was true, she prayed to every god she knew that it wasn't.

During this time there was also regrettably no word of Theon's whereabouts, but there were more reported sightings of Brienne of Tarth. This also provided some distraction for Sansa, who was able to send riders to try and find the elusive warrior. She'd told no one but Aegon, but Brienne of Tarth had seemed not only a capable fighter, but also had seen her sister, alive and well. Sansa hoped to enlist Brienne to help find her sister and at the very least wanted the opportunity to thank the woman. She had done her best to dissuade Sansa from going with Baelish, and Sansa, unknowing and wary, chose not to trust her to great personal detriment.

On the twelfth day Sansa stepped out of her tent to find the camp to find the camp fairly vibrating with energy.

From the bits of conversation she picked up as she walked she deduced that someone new had arrived.

Though she was dressed in leather trousers and due to meet Jon for training, Sansa followed the direction of the commotion, interested to see who was causing it. Eventually she came to the edge of the camp to find a large group of soldiers and their commanding officer encircled around two people and two very frightened horses.

She recognized Brienne at once, a head taller than every man in the crowd.

Sansa looked around, trying to decide the best course of action. She held little pull with the Golden Company and what she did have was only because of her friendship with Aegon. Quite inconveniently, Aegon was currently out hunting with one of his generals, and Jon, of course, was waiting for her in a field on the other side of camp.

Noticing that the tension in the crowd was beginning to rise, Sansa made a snap decision and began to push her way into the throng, making her way towards the commanding officer.Some of the soldiers recognized her and moved out of her way, others were too wrapped up in the situation to notice her at all.

'Damn…' She thought, racking her brain. There were so many different companies that she was having a terrible time keeping track of all their names. When she reached the man she decided not to risk it by guessing.

"My lord!" She said loudly, drawing more of the crowd's attention, including Brienne and her squire.

The officer seemed somewhat annoyed to have his fun interrupted but raised his fist for silence, looking at her with disinterest. "What?"

"That is Brienne of Tarth. I invited her to this camp and I gave my word her that herself and her companion would be safe. Please have your men disperse."

"Under what authority?" He asked. His thick accent made him difficult to understand, but the mocking tone in his voice was clear.

"My own." Sansa said, answering him through gritted teeth.

He laughed jovially, seeming to find this genuinely funny. "You misunderstand me. You have no authority here. You have whatever the boy gives you."

"You would speak of your king that way?"

"He's not my king. I'm just fighting his war." He took a step forward, his hand moving to his sword while his men began to hurl insults at her.

"Parlov!" Jon's clear voice rang through the air and effectively silenced the crowd.

Sansa, more than relieved for this fortuitous arrival, turned to see Jon stomping towards them. After some considerable, and very loud, back and forth between Jon and the so named Parlov the crowd dispersed, the latter looking anything but pleased.

Sansa walked over to join Jon, glaring after the retreating man and his crowd of thugs. Their behavior left an unpleasant taste in her mouth and she was extremely thankful to be rid of them.

Finally left alone by their terrorizers, Brienne and Podrick approached, though their horses seemed to think this prospect was less than ideal, and tried their best to pull away.

"I apologize." Sansa said, glancing over her shoulder and then back to Brienne. "This is not the welcome I imagined you having."

"It's nothing we aren't used to, my lady." Brienne said, her voice grave enough to make Sansa wonder, not for the first time, what Brienne's time with her mother had been like.

"That's no excuse." Sansa said, holding her arm out. "Please, follow me. Let us speak in private." She knew that Jon would see to alerting Aegon of their arrival and so she led them to the war tent.

The three of them sat at one end of the long table, opposite the end cluttered with maps and papers. Sansa sat up straight, smiling at each of them in an attempt to ease the tension.

"I would like to begin by thanking the both of you for everything you tried to do for me, had I the good sense to trust you things may have been much different."

"My lady, there is no need-"

"There is." Sansa said, resting her clasped hands in her lap. "While I try not to dwell too deeply on the past, I recognize the grave mistake I made that day. Still, in the time since I've learned much about your reputation as a warrior, Brienne, and I would ask that you use that skill to help reclaim Winterfell in the battle to come."

"I made a vow to Catelyn Stark that I would protect her daughters, no matter the case. If you would allow it, I would gladly pledge my sword to your service here and now. Warrior, guard, messenger, whatever you require, I will be it."

She thought of her mother often, but to hear her name spoken aloud left Sansa with a sinking hollow pit in her chest, her eyes clouded with unshed tears. She blinked them away the best could and looked to Podrick to gauge his reaction.

"Podrick of house Payne, do you support your lady's decision?"

"Yes, I do," Podrick answered, no trace of uncertainty in his voice. "And while I may only be a squire now, I would make the same pledge were I able."

"You both understand that by making that promise you are declaring yourself an enemy of the Crown."

Aegon's voice startled her, making her turn her head in surprise. He stood erect in the doorway of the tent, his eyes on the now standing Brienne and Podrick.

"Yes, we do." Brienne paused, the whole room going still with her. It was only when the tall woman said softly, "My king."

Sansa let go of the breath she was holding, relaxing at once. She'd heard rumors of Brienne's friendship with Jaimie Lannister and was relieved to find that he held no serious sway over her.

It took some time to see to the formalities of oath-taking, but once they were done the four of them joined Jon for dinner. It was there that Brienne and Podrick faced a personable yet thorough questioning, Aegon, Jon, and herself taking in turns to interview the pair.

By the time dessert was served they managed to have a nearly full account of the pair's travels, from Renly's death until the moment they stepped foot in Aegon's camp.

How exactly they had done that had turned out to be a matter of chance. After gleaning word of Sansa's escape from Winterfell the two had simply started searching the surrounding countryside, doing their best to avoid Ramsay's men while doing so. It had been during an impromptu detour that they had stumbled upon Aegon's camp.

After seeing that lodgings were erected for Brienne and Podrick near her own, Sansa found herself standing side by side with Aegon in front of the fire outside his tent, discussing the events of the day and the possible implications it could have on their cause. Naturally they covered the information learned earlier in the day, her mother coming up again.

"I'd always wondered what my mother's last few months were like. Now… Well, at least I have a better idea."

"You've rarely spoken of your mother…" He said, bending to throw another log into the fire.

She smiled despite herself. "Wretched as it is, I think I've been angry at her... After my father's death I couldn't understand how she had been so foolish, why she let us all leave Winterfell, why she and Robb didn't try to ransom Jaimie Lannister for me, and then she died. And so did Robb. Arya was gone, Bran and Rickon were supposedly dead, and I had no one but myself left to blame, and gods forbid I do that." She finished, her smile now bitter.

"You were a child-"

"For some of it, yes, but I've made more than my fair share of bad decisions as an adult."

"I don't believe that." Aegon said, shifting his gaze from the fire to her. "I believe you made the best decisions you could with the knowledge you had. You've made it through more than most people ever have to even consider. And most importantly, you survived, and things will be different now."

She couldn't say why but hearing him say that struck a chord within her, the sound of it reverberating within her, knocking loose some of the guilt that had gripped her heart over the past few years. Guilt for the things she had done and not done, most of all, the guilt she felt that out of everyone, she was still alive.

On the nineteenth day her hopes were at their lowest. She had pushed through her training that morning as she had every morning, with the idea that the exercise would raise her spirits, but when it was over she again found herself pacing restlessly around her tent, unable to dismiss her worries.

Was it because she was a woman? Would they come if it were Jon Snow making the plea? It was humbling to think that her people would prefer her half brother as their leader, but she couldn't shake the idea. She was a Stark yes, but she was beginning to wonder if that would be enough to rally her people.

Hours of internal contemplation went by and she eventually settled on making alterations to a gown next to the light of the brazier, Brienne keeping her company in comfortable silence. The needle dove in and out of the fabric at her precise direction, joining the two pieces without leaving a visible stitch behind. Unfortunately this act of mundanity only let her mind wander easier and she felt herself start to fray like the edge of the dress she was sewing.

"What if no one comes?" Sansa blurted out, stabbing the needle into the bundle of fabric in her lap.

Brienne, not immediately understanding Sansa's contextless outburst, but eventually shook her head and smiled kindheartedly. "They will."

"How can you be sure?" She realized what a ridiculous question this was, but couldn't help but seek the reassurance of another.

"I have faith, not just in you but in them as well. It will have taken time to make the journey here, especially if they wish to keep Ramsay unapprised of their movements. I know that patience is the last thing you'll want me to counsel at this moment, but in this case there really is nothing left to do but wait."

It took incredible effort, and a nearly equal amount of spiced wine, yet eventually Sansa managed to find sleep that night. It was restless, fitful sleep where she was always just below the surface of waking, the slightest sound bringing her awake with a chest full of fear and panic that left her breathless and clutching her pillow.

When she woke in the dark to the smell of smoke and the sound of screams it took a few moments for her mind to connect the occurrences to reality.

Sansa sat up, propelling herself into movement lest she become frozen with fear in her bed. 'My gods,' she thought, her arms wrapped around herself. 'It sounds like the entire camp is being attacked.' She crouched low to the ground and pulled her cloak over her shift, all the while trying to find the blade Aegon had gifted her. Finally her fingers made contact with the cold metal of the handle and her hand closed around it. She crawled around to reach into the trunk at the foot of her bed, finding by touch and withdrawing a worn leather breastplate. It took no little effort to fasten it around her midsection in the dark, but once on she felt extremely comforted by the sturdy support and security it provided.

Where was Brienne? She was only a few tents down the row, and under normal circumstances Sansa would have expected her to burst through the tent flap at any moment. Still, time went by and no one appeared- or at least no one Sansa was interested in sticking around to meet. When the shadows of men began to appear outside her tent she carefully donned her cloak and quietly exited through the back, sneaking under the bottom of the canvas and out into the night.

Hood pulled over her head and white shift hidden completely under the dark velvet of her cloak, Sansa made her way into the foliage that lined the back of the tents in that area. Well away from the torches that lit the camp she used the cover over darkness to edge her way around the camp, taking in the chaos. She ran as fast as she could, the snow crunching loudly underneath her feet as she went, though she doubted it would matter. The level of noise coming out of the camp was more than loud enough to cover her going.

There were indeed tents ablaze, though not as many as Sansa had originally thought. The men in the camp were reacting with vicious expediency, cutting down the intruders, all of whom were dressed in ragged black furs and well armed, though this appeared to make little difference. From her place just beyond the camp she could see people moving, some fighting and others searching for a fight, calling out for battle. Most of these she noticed were Aegon's men, reinforcing her growing opinion that the Golden Company had the situation in hand.

Her eyes searched hopelessly for Aegon or Brienne among the roil, and finding neither she moved on further, disliking the proximity of herself and the hooded men approaching in the distance. On the chance that Ramsay had led this attack himself she tucked her braid into her cloak and pulled her hood down further, her face barely visible.

When Sansa finally saw someone she recognized she couldn't help but roll her eyes, cursing whichever power had led her to Captain Parlov. With little respect for Aegon and none for Sansa herself she thought it unlikely that he would be interested in guarding her person for the remainder of the attack. More likely he'd just kill her himself and save the trouble all together.

She watched him from the shadows for a time while Parlov stalked around a pile of now dead men, his axe held casually over his shoulder, taunting the empty air around him.

Just as she decided to search for better company to wait out the attack, Sansa noticed one of the men in the pile begin to move, a blade clutched in his hand as he began to wiggle himself free from his fallen comrades. Not wanting to call out and alert anyone to her position, she ran as fast as she could, knowing as she did that she had but one chance to stop him. With all her force she threw her body shoulder first into the man's back, knocking him forward back into the dead bodies. With a shockingly clear presence of mind she raised her dagger and shoved it into the base of the man's neck, both hands wrapped around the hilt for extra force.

She felt the man go limp beneath her and she exhaled heavily, her hands shaking while still clutching the blade.

Parlov turned around just in time to see her wrench the blade from the man's neck and stand up, amusement on his face. "So all that time training with the King has paid off, the wolf knows how to use her teeth. Come, we will fight together until the others arrive."

She wanted to protest, tell him that she was nowhere near ready, and yet she said nothing. Parlov's words had struck a chord of encouragement within her and though it was likely sheer stupidity on her part, she moved to stand next to him, holding her dagger in her right hand. After all, her only other option seemed to be to wander into the fray and hope to find Aegon or Brienne, which at the moment felt a little too dicey to chance. She wondered where in the world the others were and why they, most importantly Aegon, hadn't woken her if something was wrong. 'Perhaps he hadn't known something was wrong.' Sansa thought grimly. Ramsay had a knack for being most creative with his cruelties, could he have lured them away somehow? She couldn't complete the train of thought, unwilling to let herself consider the possibility of Aegon's demise and what it would mean.

No one approached for a long while but the sounds of fighting could still be heard throughout the camp and kept her from forming a false sense of security. Sansa was just beginning to dare to hope it was over when two men appeared from behind a tent. They didn't see them at first but when they did they ran full tilt and herself and Parlov, the voices of the two men raised in a scream.

"Ah ha!" Parlov boomed, gripping his sword with two hands. "I'll take the big one, you take the little one."

Sansa looked wide eyed at Parlov, then the well armed men, and then at the dagger in her hand. She promptly dropped it in favor of one of the shortswords left behind by one of Parlov's previous victims, plus a light circular shield. She got said shield fixed to her left arm just in time to block an oncoming hit, likely fatal had it completed it's murderous arc, and the force of it shook her entire body, nearly knocking her off her feet. She should have returned with a strike of her own but she hesitated, giving the man an opening to recover and attack once more. He struck with less power this time but quickly and twice. She blocked the first with her shield but was forced to parry the second with her sword before it ran her through, the sound of metal scraping on metal singing in the night air. When he moved to attack for a third time she was ready for it. She used her shield to stop the blow and then threw the strength of her whole body behind it, knocking his sword arm to the side just enough to give her the opening she needed.

She could hear Aegon's voice in her mind, as clearly as if he was standing beside her. 'When you're fighting someone, someone that wants to kill you, you strike hard, fast, and with the assumption that you won't get another chance. Size and strength matter less if you can take them down quickly.'

Without a hint of hesitation this time she shoved the end of her sword through the man's neck and ripped it back out at an angle, doing as much damage as she could with her one blow. She watched him fall to the ground in front of her, and turned round to an applauding Parlov leaning on his sword. His opponent lay dead at his feet.

"Well done. Keep your shield up next time. He almost took your head off."

Parlov's face changed to one of surprise and then once again jubilation. Sansa brought her shield up and turned, half expecting to find more attackers. Instead she was greeted with the welcome sight of Aegon, his hair tousled and clothes dirty. Armed with his sword and spattered with blood he looked like the Warrior made flesh, a furious energy radiating from him. Sansa locked eyes with him, her feet beginning to move underneath her, propelling her towards him. They embraced wordlessly for a moment, and then parted.

"You're okay." Aegon said, the relief in his voice clear. One of his hands still rested on her arm and she raised her own hand to hold it.

"I am, but you, you're covered in blood…"

He grinned, lifting her hand to his lips for a brief kiss. "Very little of it is my own, and the same could be said for you."

The sounds of fighting were all but gone now, the smell of smoke heavy on the air as fires were put out with heaps of snow and buckets of water. Men were starting to gather around them, likely to hear what the king had to say about this most devious and low handed attack. Aegon kept his eyes on hers for a few moments longer before tearing them away, letting her hand go with a final squeeze.

She turned to find Parlov standing a few feet away, next to what looked like a very uncomfortable Podrick. She had to stuff down the hysterical urge to laugh, her lips pressed tightly together in a smile as Aegon began to speak to the crowd.

"This was no random attack. This was carefully planned and executed by the tyrant Ramsay Bolton. Precisely how these men were allowed to get so close to our camp without detection remains to be discovered, but rest assured, the means will be found, and those complicite through intent or neglect will be rooted out."

A chill crept down Sansa's back at his words. To think that one or more of the men around her may have been involved left her feeling uneasy. Her first encounter with Parlov had shown her that an army of mercenaries had its disadvantages, as loyalty could usually be bought for a higher price. Still, she thought it unlikely that Ramsay could have the available funds to bribe anyone, so what could have caused such a betrayal if it had taken place?

She realized with a start that she had stopped listening during her considerations and redirected her attention back to Aegon.

"...about thirty or so men, and so far as we can tell none of them escaped the camp."

This was good, she thought. Be it kidnapping or reconnesaise, Ramsay's mission had failed.

"Go back to your beds if you can, those who cannot; See Jon. He will attend to your accommodations. You all fought well tonight. With luck we will have the same success when we face them on the battlefield."

The next day was bleak. The camp was full of agitation, the men itching to find retribution for the night's attack. Several captains spoke to Aegon personally, urging him to march the army forward to Winterfell. Each time Aegon refused to move an inch, stating that any immediate attack would be exactly what Ramsay was expecting. Sansa had sat quietly in the corner during these meetings, trying not to feel the helplessness that filled her.

Parlov shouted for entrance from outside her tent, though this was clearly after thought, as a full two seconds later he walked into her tent, grinning like the carved gourds they used to display as children during the Stranger's Night. Possibly the only positive thing to come out of the attack was the impression she had left on the old captain. His previous indifference to his allegiance seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a newfound loyalty to herself, and by extension, Aegon.

Brienne seemed to have mixed feelings about this sudden addition to Sansa's acquaintances, and always drew up stiff as a board when Parlov was within sight. Having been sitting quietly in the corner, Brienne stood up at this sudden intrusion, reprobation on her lips stopped when Parlov raised his hand.

"Yes I know, save your scolding woman. There's something happening. Arm yourselves and stay here."

Sansa dropped her needle work to the floor and rose, stepping over it as she moved towards the tent flap. She was breathing heavily, the scenes of violence from the night before flashing before her eyes. "Surely not…" Sansa said, not realizing it was out loud until Brienne answered her.

"I shouldn't think so, my lady, but still, we shall do as he says."

She accredited her survival of the previous attack to sheer luck and was less than thrilled at the prospect of having to tempt fate a second time in less than twelve hours. At least, she thought grimly, she had Brienne and Parlov directly to hand.

Sansa was able to get her breastplate on with little difficulty, but she fumbled with the sword belt, just fastening it around her waist when she heard Parlov greet someone in a casual tone. She relaxed at once and despite Brienne's protestations Sansa pushed past her and out of the tent, propelled by curiosity.

She was two steps out of the tent when Aegon swept her up into a spinning hug, a broad smile on his face. She was smiling as well by the time he put her down, his hands cupping her cheeks. "You've done it, my lady. They have come." He let her go and grabbed her cloak, wrapping it hastily around her shoulders. When he was done he looked down at her, his bright eyes eager and full of what she thought might be tenderness. "You must come and see your men, Lady Stark. They are waiting for you."

"Waiting?" She asked, a little fizzing sensation beginning to build in her chest.

"They were quite clear that they wouldn't speak to me before speaking with you first. Despite some of their actions in the recent past, these men and women are loyal to the Stark name." He moved to go, and then stopped, turning back to her. "Sansa, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't ask just one more time. Is this really what you want?"

Sansa smirked, nodding her head. "I made my decision the day I called my banners."

She could have let them gather, speak to them as a whole, and yet she felt compelled to do otherwise. She greeted each lord as they arrived, showing them to the new extension of the camp, meant for the Northern company, to be led by Sansa herself. It was a busy day as men poured into the camp, all exhausted from the rough journey. Men pledged from the Stormlands naturally gravitated towards the new arrivals, helping erect tents and start fires, the long standing allegiance between the Stark and Baratheon men evident.

Aegon saw that all of his stores and armory were open to her people, allowing Sansa to ensure that they were all well fed and well armed as they trailed into the camp. The relief and gratitude they greeted her with did much to buoy her spirits, and she felt herself assume the role of leader with an air of ease she hadn't expected.

By the time she found herself sitting at dinner with Aegon she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open, much to his amusement.

"You should sleep." He said, pulling away her bowl of soup after she nearly sat her cup of wine in it.

She smiled wryly at him, rubbing her eyes a little with one hand. "It's been a long two days."

"That it has, and longer days still ahead. You need your rest if we're to move on Winterfell within the week."

"A week." She murmured, feeling excitement and apprehension all at once. It was strange. Sometimes it was like she had been in the camp and the woods for years. At other times, when she was overly tired or nervous or for no reason at all, it was like it was right back there, the terror still happening. She would see Ramsay's face on every man she crossed, and though the shade always passed quickly, the mingled feeling of terror and anger did not. She wanted to liberate Winterfell more than anything, to take vengeance for not only herself, but her family.

And yet somehow the thought of living out her days in that castle was a little more than she could bear to think about. She'd pushed the thought to the back of her mind, able to ignore the looming eventuality of it with constant distraction, but now… "A week and I'll be home."

"You sound as though there is somewhere else you would rather be." Aegon stated simply.

"Would it shock you if I said there was?" Sansa said, meeting his eye levely.

He shook his head. "Not at all. You have no obligation to stay."

"Ha." She laughed, taking a long drink of wine.

"No, I mean it. You've sent word to your brother at the Wall and the search continues on for your other siblings. I dare say that when the time comes you will have your pick of stewards."

"Even if I have a steward, what is there for me to do outside of Winterfell?"

"To start you could join my campaign, I mean truly join it. There will come a time when we head south, and I feel that you would be an invaluable resource to my cause. You know all of them, especially the Tyrells. You were the one that said you and Margaery were quite close at one time. You could work alongside me, even continue to command your own company of men should you choose. The possibilities are endless."

"You would let a woman hold that much power under your rule?"

He sighed, shifting a little. "I can't say it's one of my more popular stances, but I think there's much we lose by the restrictions we put on women."

"Mm, I can see how that might be troubling to some. What I'm having trouble seeing is how it isn't troubling to you. Wouldn't this give Danaerys even more leverage?"

"It may, and perhaps it should, but I believe there is balance to be found with her. Though if the rumors starting to emerge are true and her sanity comes into question, her gender will matter little and the damage done to the Targaryen name will be irreparable."

"It sounds as though you believe the two of you are linked."

"I do. I think that for better or worse I must endeavor to keep the political lines open, in the hopes that we may gain some control over her machinations."

The next day they held a meeting with different companies of men, distributing battle plans and directives. When most of the men had come and gone, Sansa sat with Aegon in a moment of calm.

"I haven't had a chance yet, but I want to thank you for everything you did for my men yesterday. It was very generous of you."

"They've lost much. It's the least I can offer them." He opened his mouth to say something else when they heard someone clear their throat.

They turned in unison to find Petyr Baelish standing in the doorway on the other side of the table and it nearly startled the life out of her. She'd looked for him yesterday and had found his supposed absence suspicious. Apparently, she'd been right to do so.

"Lord Baelish. It's good to see you. I was beginning to worry." She said pointedly and she rose, the smile dropping from her lips.

"I admit I was delayed in coming, and when I arrived I found you enthralled with planning. Rather than draw attention away from your business today I chose to wait a while before seeking an audience." Turning to Aegon, Littlefinger swept him a bow and then stood. "My king."

"Lord Baelish." Aegon answered stiffly, nodding his head.

"I want to thank you for what you've done. After Sansa's escape from Winterfell most thought that she had perished, to see her alive and well brings us all great joy. You've done her a great service."

Aegon said nothing for a long moment, but Sansa could see the anger just below the stillness of his face. "There's no need for thanks. I did what any man would have."

Petyr very clearly heard the slight in Aegon's words but ignored it and directed his attention to Sansa. "You know that word will have already reached Ramsay."

"I know," She said. "but there was no choice. I needed to call for what allies I could." She didn't mention that now they had enough combined men to take Winterfell five times over. "I appreciate your concern, but as you've no doubt heard, we will move on to Winterfell in two days. Now, if you would excuse us-"

"Actually, I was hoping I could have a word with you, alone." Petyr said delicately, not looking at Aegon.

Sansa felt Aegon's entire body language change and put a hand on his arm, looking up at him. She answered the question in his eyes with a small nod and he relaxed a little, taking her hand. He made a blatant show of kissing the top of her hand in farewell before turning to go, promising to find her later.

Petyr watched her curiously during this entire proceeding, one eyebrow slightly raised. Only when Aegon was completely out of earshot did he speak. "It would seem that our new king has a low opinion of me."

"He blames you." Sansa said, her tone enough to convey how she felt about that matter. What she knew was false guilt took over his features and he moved to touch her but she was saved from this uncomfortable gesture by the table between them.

"Sansa, I swear, I had no idea, not until it was too late."

Anger rushed up within her but she held her tongue. Lashing out now would likely result in losing the Vale's support and her chance to see Littlefinger put on trial. She took a breath, steeling herself. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

"And what of this new alliance with the young Targaryen king? An interesting decision, I admit."

Sansa tilted her head to the side, feigning confusion. "I thought you of all people would understand that. I mean to see my enemies dead. Aegon has the means to make that happen."

"And what of the other Targaryen? The one with three dragons?"

Sansa rolled her eyes, purposefully flippant. The less he knew about what she actually thought, the better. "Daenerys Targaryen is in Essos playing queen. Aegon is here and next in line for the throne. Not her. Let her stay in Essos and burn it into submission. Should she ever turn her eye to Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms will be united and strong under Aegon." Sansa scanned his face carefully. "Are you having second thoughts about coming?"

"Of course not, my lady. Though, I think I should go send word to your cousin Robyn and inform him of your wellbeing and this new alliance." With his usual air of assumed superiority Petyr sauntered off towards the tent flap where two guards appeared from the shadows to follow him out.

Sansa cursed shortly under her breath at his retreating back, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she turned away from the doorway. She heard footsteps and was ready to turn back around and tell Petyr exactly where he could stuff it when she saw Podrick. Sansa softened at once, nodding her head in greeting.

"My lady." He said, tipping his head.

"Podrick, what perfect timing you have."

"From the tone of your conversation with Baelish, I happen to agree."

At the mention of Littlefinger her mood deflated at once, her own eyes traveling toward the open tent flap. A group of people were approaching but it was impossible to make out any faces in the shadowy darkness so she lowered her voice. "I think it prudent that we keep a close eye on him… Can you see to it that he is followed? Discreetly?"

Podrick smiled. "I was just waiting for you to ask. I will see that it is done at once." He gave her a small bow and then left, moving swiftly in the direction Littlefinger had taken.

Alone, Sansa moved to one of the abandoned chairs, sat down heavily and closed her eyes, enjoying the moment's peace for as long as she could. When the sound of voices outside became clear she opened her eyes, recognizing the familiar sound of Aegon's voice. She could see him hovering just outside of the tent, his attention still on the group of men he was speaking with. He let the last man say his peace before dispatching them all with a wave of his hand and then he turned, his face lighting when his eyes found hers. She could see the question in them and smiled to reassure him.

"You're okay." He said, relief in voice as he approached the table.

"I can handle Baelish." She stood up, abandoning the chair once more and circled the table so that they were face to face. "But I want to thank you for trusting my judgment."

"I can't say I enjoyed the experience. If I didn't need the Vale's support I would have seized him the second he stepped foot in my camp." He said, sighing. "Though, I'm not sure it's going to make much of a difference now."

"What do you mean?" She asked, her brows drawing together.

"I just saw him riding out from camp with his guards. Something tells me he won't be returning."

Sansa shook her head confidently. "I have Podrick following him just to be sure, but he'll come back. I know it"

Aegon looked down at her, puzzled. "How can you be so certain?"

She shrugged a little, suddenly embarrassed. "He thinks I'm still the naive girl I used to be." He looked even more confused, and she stuffed down the embarrassment, and marshaled herself. "It's somewhat difficult to explain, but it's something I figured out sometime ago. Littlefinger didn't 'help' me all those years ago because of some debt to my mother. He loved her and he couldn't have her. He only helped me because I reminded him of her. He never cared about me, but he still doesn't seem to be able to leave me alone, to separate me from the fictitious character that exists in his head. That will be his undoing." If she knew Baelish at all he was going to ride just far enough to send a letter to Ramsay, detailing the camp's location and what details he could about when Aegon might strike. When said letter was intercepted by the men sent to follow Baelish it would stand as proof against him in trial.

A sudden look of disgust swept over his face. "I'm sorry, Sansa."

She didn't say anything but instead turned to stand beside him, looking out into the black night with mutual distaste. After a few moments she felt him move and she turned, one eyebrow slightly raised. He was looking down at her, desolation in his eyes. Before she knew what was happening he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, tenderness in his voice.

"I meant what I said. I will bring you the vengeance you deserve, Sansa. I swear it."

The next morning Sansa's spirits were high. Everyone in the camps moved with purpose as they set about the laborious process of preparing for a battle that would likely turn into a siege. Even if it did, Aegon possessed so many siege towers and men she doubted it would last long and the thought did little to hamper her mood. Ramsay would fall and Winterfell would be free. She knew it.

Though there was much to be done, Aegon insisted on continuing Sansa's training and so she found herself back in their clearing, a dull edged short sword in hand while she dodged to and fro. After a while they switched sides and Sansa tried, albeit somewhat in vain, to land any blow she could manage, no matter how formless. She went on and on until she thought her lungs would burst and then stopped, one hand holding the stitch in her side and she tried to breathe. Aegon, finding humor in this, laughed and stuck the end of his sword in the ground.

"I think that's plenty for today." He said, taking the sword from her hand. He led her over to an overturned tree and sat her down, his face drawn with concern. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard, I'm sorry."

"Don't… Be…" She said in between breaths, shaking her head. "I needed this. I can barely keep my thoughts straight."

"You shouldn't worry." He said, sitting down next to her. He pulled the flask from his hip and took the cap off, offering it to her.

She took it gratefully, shrugging. "I wish it were that easy." She took a long drink from the flask and the cool water inside soothed her overworked lungs, making it easier for her to breathe.

"It's the waiting that's the hardest part. Once the fighting starts, everything else goes away. You can't worry, you can't think about anything about the man in front of you."

"I thought I wasn't allowed to fight." She said, smirking.

"You're not." He said, taking the flask back. "However, should the worst happen and they manage to break through the line, I've arranged for a group of your men to take you to safety."

"No…" She said, shaking her head. "I won't leave-"

"Please." He said, taking one of her gloved hands in his. "I need to know that you'll be safe. Promise me that if it looks like we're going to lose the battle that you'll go."

She took a deep breath. "Are you asking as my king?"

"If that's what it takes."

"I promise." She said, squeezing his hand lightly, though in actuality she couldn't even begin to imagine doing so. This promise added another reason to her running list as to why they had to be successful no matter the cost. So much depended on their venture being successful and both of them knew it.

With the wind back in her lungs Sansa stood up and the cold breeze hit the back of her neck, making her shiver.

"Come on." Aegon said, grabbing their weapons. "Let's get back to the camp."

While the afternoon sun blazed above them they noticed none of its warmth as they walked close together, both too absorbed in their own thoughts to say much of anything to each other. They reached the edge of the camp in time to see a group of men making their way towards Aegon's tent accompanied by guards. The arrival of newcomers was always intriguing, but there was something more interesting about this group in particular, and more so about the man that led them. From her angle through the treeline he seemed oddly familiar in a way, reminding her of someone she knew.

"Wait…" Sansa said, one arm held out in front of Aegon as she stopped in her tracks. "Jon?" She asked, her voice incredulous.

Aegon looked at the group of men and then back to her. "Jon? You mean-"

"Yes." She answered, cutting him off in her excitement. "My brother. That's my brother."

Without a second thought she took off, not quite running but not walking either, in Jon's direction with Aegon close behind her. He called out to the guards escorting her brother and his men and had the entire party stopped, creating a great deal of momentary confusion. During the commotion Sansa locked eyes with Jon and the next thing she knew she was running past yelling guards and into the group of strangely dressed men.

She found her brother in the midst of it all and cried out with joy as she threw her arms around him.

"You made it." She said, laughing through the tears that ran down her cheeks. "You came."

"Ay, I came, as quickly as I could." He stepped back and had to look up at her as she now stood a full two inches taller than himself. "It's good to see you again. Are you well?"

Sansa nodded. "I am. I've been treated very well here." She turned and her smile grew even larger as her eyes lighted on an approaching Aegon. She swept him a deep ceremonial bow and rose, gesturing to Jon. "Your grace, I would like to introduce my brother, Jon Snow."

At this Aegon gave Jon a welcoming smile. "Lady Sansa has told me much about you, Jon Snow. It is good of you to come."

Sansa watched Jon's face carefully but saw no trace of contempt or scorn as Jon put the pieces together.

"Thank you, your grace. I've brought a few men with me to join in the battle, and I also bring word from the Night's Watch… and Ramsay Bolton."

Stiffening at this Sansa glanced at Aegon, the usual good nature gone from his face entirely.

"Let us speak privately then. Your men can join the Northern unit on the far end of the camp while they wait."

"With all due respect your grace, my men would fare better away from the other Northerners."

Aegon's eyebrow rose and Sansa's already crawling skin prickled. "Brother,"

"I know what you're going to say, but not here. I can explain."

A short time later the three were seated around one end of the war table, away from prying ears.

Sansa turned her eyes to Jon, expectant. With great apparent reluctance he produced a scroll, the flayed man wax seal already broken. She eyed it as if it were a writhing snake, liable to strike out at any moment, and it took a great deal of resolve to reach out her hand and pick it up.

Sansa read it carefully aloud for a few sentences and then stopped, feeling too sick to continue reading at all. She held one hand at her side and the other on her stomach, trying to quell the disgust and terror she felt. She closed her eyes and breathed, counting to and back from ten as she pulled herself back together breath by breath. When she opened her eyes again she couldn't look at either of them immediately, not knowing what they just read.

They, however, were both looking at her. Aegon's barely quelled rage was being held in check, though he kept a white knuckle grip on the crumpled parchment in his fist.

She looked up to meet his eye and he deliberately rolled the parchment into a ball before throwing it directly into the fire.

"Sansa." He said, moving at once to lead her to a chair.

She let him, but her body was rigid as a board as a flood of emotions roiled inside her. Fury, mortification, anger, and a great sadness made her drop her head into her hands as she sat. She couldn't hide them, they were too strong, too fresh to be glazed over with a face of stone. She took a deep ragged breath, staring at her hands. "That bloody bastard." She said, to herself more than anyone else, slamming her fist into her thigh. Her skin was crawling and the urge to run struck her and her eyes darted around the room, trying to find an exit.

"Sansa, please, will you look at me?" Aegon's voice was low, his hands on her shoulders squeezing lightly. In response to the small shake of her head he cupped her cheeks in his hands like he had done hours before, tilting her face up to his. "I am furious and deeply saddened by what has happened to you, but it doesn't define you. It does not define the strong, courageous woman I have come to know over the last weeks, and it does not change you in my eyes."

"How can it not?" She asked, her voice almost bitter.

Aegon sighed, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "I have seen a great deal of this world. I think we both know that women don't deserve to be shamed for the injustices they have faced at the hands of cruel men, especially those who were meant to protect them. If you would believe nothing else, believe me Sansa Stark, for I shall bring you vengeance and lay it at your feet."

She resisted the urge to bite her lip and nodded once, accepting his promise. He raised her hand and kissed the top of it before setting it gently back in her lap. The urge to flee was back but she fought it, her eyes now focused on the brazier that held the ashes of that horrid letter.

"And what of Rickon? What if he really has him?" Jon asked.

Sansa took a very deep breath. "I don't know. I never heard even a whisper that he was being held at Winterfell, but that doesn't mean he's not there. I wasn't exactly given free reign of the place." She didn't want to say it but she felt the words coming out of her mouth regardless. "If he ever had Rickon I can't believe Ramsay would have kept him alive… A male Stark? He killed his newborn brother, stepmother, and father at the mere idea of being usurped."

The look on Jon's face was sad, but not angry. "For so long I've thought of the boys as gone, the idea that either of them might be out there…"

Her heart twisted in her chest at the mental image of her two little brothers, peaceful and innocent. "We'll do what we can, when we can." She said, the resolve in her voice shaky.

Aegon came to rest beside her, pulling a chair alongside, looking at her but speaking to Jon. "You said you brought news from the Wall as well?"

"Ay, I did." Jon kept his place at the table. He spared many details, but conveyed a majority of the events that had taken place during his time with the Night's Watch.

By the end of it Sansa was staring at Aegon, her eyes wide. He seemed to be thinking along the same lines. These creatures Jon had faced had to be the enemy the priestess spoke of. A renewed wave of terror stuck her and sent ripples of fear up her back. She knew from the look in Jon's eye that he was telling the truth, not that he had ever been one to lie. No, in that way he was like her father, truthful to a fault. If that were somehow not enough, her brother had other men with similar seperate accounts to support his claim should they be needed.

To her great surprise Aegon's features had changed and he was standing, staring at the great map of the North laid out on the war table. "The need for Winterfell is even greater. It's the most defensible castle in the North after the Wall's fortresses, which we must assume will fall."

Jon looked immensely confused and nearly stammered. "Wait, are you saying you believe me?"

Aegon raised one pale eyebrow. "I am. Is there a reason I should not?"

"No, I- well, most people refuse to believe what they haven't seen for themselves."

"Luckily for you Jon Snow, I am not most people. Nor are you the first to warn me of this foe." Aegon chuckled mirthlessly. "Though I must say, you are the first to describe them in such detail. I don't suppose you and your brothers came across any ways to handle these creatures beyond the dragonglass?"

"Not as of yet, which is why I think it's critical to start gathering all the dragonglass we can. With your permission and support we could leave to begin mining as soon as Winterfell is retaken."

"You know where to mine it?" Aegon asked, true curiosity on his face.

Jon nodded. "I do. You see, the late maester of the Wall was a Targaryen. In his records we found a book that mentions Dragonstone as one of the biggest deposits in Westeros. All we'd need is to get a group of men there to start the labor."

"We face a formidable opponent. I have a feeling every edge we can get will help. You have my permission and my men. Speak with my hand lord Connington in the morning to begin preparations. We will march on Winterfell in two days time and I want that party ready to leave when the last blow strikes."

Sansa stood up, blinked, and walked directly towards the stoneware pitcher of wine. She poured a generous cupful and drained it deliberately. The word seemed terribly full of problems and just at that moment she wanted to think about none of them. She refilled her cup and drained it slower but still to its completion. She could feel worried eyes on her back but the wine was starting to take hold and she ignored them, pouring a third cup. This one she held between her hands, staring into the deep red depths. "You should both rest, there will be little time for it in the coming days. I will have Brienne see me back to my tent."

Without looking back at them she left them both behind and stepped out into the darkness.

Aegon watched the tent flap fall still and then turned to the ex-commander. "I worry for your sister."

"If I may ask, how did you come to find Sansa?"

"My men alerted me to a scouting party so we went out to find them before they found us, only it wasn't a scouting party. It was a team of men with hounds in pursuit of what would turn out to be your sister. She had been in the woods for days with Theon Greyjoy after the two of them managed to escape the castle. We weren't sure she was going to make it at first, she had a terrible fever after being in the elements that long, but thankfully she's returned to full strength. Physically, at least."

"If the things in that letter are any indication of how she was treated then it's going to take more than a few weeks to start to heal that wound. Still, it seems I have to thank you."

"And ask what it is I have promised your sister in return for her cooperation?"

"If you feel like offering that information I won't stop you."

"The only thing I've promised Sansa is freedom. Freedom to choose to stay here in Winterfell and rule as it's lady, or freedom to choose another path should she feel called. I think she would make a valuable member of my delegation."

Jon tilted his head to the side, considering. "Then she has sworn her fealty to you?"

"She has, though not lightly or without consideration. And know this, Jon Snow. Your sister, like this realm, has been treated poorly by those who called themselves protectors in the past. I plan to make sure your sister lives a happy and full life, no matter what decision she makes."

Jon seemed to take this in and mull it over. "Then I hope unlike your predecessors, you hold true to your promises."

Once it was decided that the battle would be pushed back until the following morning, Sansa spent the next morning and afternoon with her brother. This gave everyone newly arrived enough time to familiarize themselves with the altered battle plan, and herself time to get to know her brother again.

They had shared breakfast, swapping stories about their times apart. By unsaid agreement they both stuck to mostly pleasant stories, though she could tell Jon had plenty of the inverse waiting behind the sadness of his eyes. That sadness had been present when she had last seen him, had possibly been present since birth, but it was deeper now.

During that afternoon Sansa found herself in her usual training spot with Jon, who had stared open mouthed in disbelief when he learned of her new interest in swordsmanship.

After Jon knocked her to the ground for the fifth time, she grunted as she pulled herself back up, wiping snow off her legs.

"All in all, you've got a good start on the basics." Jon said, his tone casual as he advanced again. "Are you worried about the battle?"

Sansa, having been graduated from knives and given a small sword, blocked an incoming blow and stepped aside, breathing heavily and shaking her head. "No. I believe the numbers are on our side." She had to duck and lunge away to avoid his next swing but she came up on her feet in one swift motion, her own dulled blade held ready.

"Alright, then what of you and the king, then?" He let his arm fall, looking at her critically. "He told me he offered you a position on his delegation?"

She let her own arm fall and shrugged. It wasn't a topic she preferred to examine too closely. "He has, but I have not decided if I will accept it. What of it?"

"I think if you accept the position it won't be the last proposal you receive from him. I think he's in love with you."

"So what if he is?" She retorted sharply.

"So what if he is?" He asked in disbelief. "You might be queen and all you can ask is 'so what if he is'?"

"You think he would marry me? Twice wed to enemies of my house and no longer a maiden? Don't be a fool." She scoffed. "He could have his choice of any woman in Westeros, and you really believe he would choose me?"

Jon looked at her with sympathy, sighing. "It doesn't matter to him, Sansa. I can see it in his eyes when I first saw the two of you together. Still, how he feels isn't important. What do you want to do? Would you marry him if he asked? Do you love him?"

"As much as one can love someone they've only known for a few weeks.." She answered, her hand gripping the small sword tight. "If he asked me, I think I would. I don't know why… I used to think that if I ever got away from Ramsay I'd live alone, that I could never possibly care for a man after what he did to me… Now…"

"You deserve happiness Sansa, no matter what that looks like." He smiled then. "Just know that whatever you decide, I'll support you."

They didn't speak of anything else of importance but continued to train, Sansa letting the act of physical exertion soothe her mind so that she might try and think clearly. She hadn't actively faced the idea that Aegon had developed feelings for her until now and the thought was staggering. To invite Aegon into her life meant inviting war and hardship, but also the possibility of hope and joy that she had been denied for so long. Each time she encouraged him and spent time with him it influenced him towards her and she took one step closer to choosing her destiny. It was more of a choice that she ever thought she would have after the cruelness of the past few years and in a way, it terrified her because if it all went wrong this time she would have no one but herself to blame.

'Jon could be wrong.' She thought to herself. 'This could all be a simple misunderstanding, and then what?" No, better to let it go.

The next meal she had with Aegon was more strained and she felt herself stumbling over her words. After the seventh or eighth time this happened Aegon smirked at her, raising one eyebrow.

"My lady Sansa, I've not known you to have trouble finding your voice. What troubles you?"

"The future." She said, opting for a bit of the truth as she rolled her spoon between her fingers, her eyes fixed on the still surface of her cup of wine. She reached out a finger and touched it, watching the waves ripple over the surface.

"The outcome of the battle ahead is a mute point, with all the information we have now there's no feasible way Bolton can hold Winterfell."

"I believe you, and that's not what frightens me." She dropped the spoon and met his eye dead on. "I'm worried about what comes after that. What happens after you've won this battle? Ramsay isn't the only threat that faces the North and once it falls to those creatures-"

He reached out and took her hand, holding it lightly but firm. "I will be with you, Sansa, and the North will not fall."

She opened her mouth to respond but found herself cut short when Jon Connington walked into the tent, his eyes falling at once to their joined hands before tactfully looking away.

"Pardon me, your grace, my lady. Your presence is needed, your grace."

"Very well, I'll join you outside." Aegon said to Jon, squeezing her hand before letting it go. Once they were alone Aegon smiled at her, standing up. "We'll talk more about this later, I promise."

Sansa was up most of the night, unable to find any real sleep and from the sounds coming from around the camp she assumed none of the fighting men did either. She thought of Aegon, wondering if he too was kept awake by the call of the battlefield.

Dawn was still a few hours away when the men began to don their armor and saddle their horses. The ride to Winterfell would take at least two hours, laden as they would be with men, arms, and trebuchets. She could hear the sounds of thousands of men moving around outside her tent and felt the anxious, keyed up energy that all of them buzzed with.

While the weather had been gracious enough to stay clear for the previous weeks that condition was rapidly changing. Since the time of her brother's arrival the temperature had dropped dramatically. As if that wasn't bad enough, the wind had picked up as well and it whipped viciously at all times of the day. Those native to the land, including Sansa herself, knew that this time of the season was prone to harsh blizzards and they all agreed that they needed to initiate and conclude the battle swiftly. That, or risk weathering out the storm with little but canvas between themselves and the wind.

It was to the ominous sound of howling wind that Sansa dressed, her hands fumbling as she tried to fasten the clasp of her breastplate.

Maggie, who had been watching her with a certain amount of controlled patience, stepped forward. She waved Sansa's hands away and fastened the clasp securely. "There." She said, satisfied. She took half a step back and looked Sansa up and down before nodding with approval. "I dare say you're well fortified, but I still don't understand why you insist on doing this."

"I won't sit idly by with my hands in my lap while the men I care about fight for my home. If I stay here while I send my men off to die I'm no better than Cersei Lannister."

The tone of Sansa's voice must have been enough to stave off the rest of Maggie's comments for the older woman merely pursed her lips in plain disapproval and reached for Sansa's cloak. This last piece was the finishing touch to her hastily improvised ensemble, most of which had been gifted to her by a female mercenary from the Golden Company. The black armor fit her well and was of good quality, leaving her with little doubt that it would be effective should the need arise. Her hair was pulled away from her face and fell in fiery curls down her back, and combined with her armor, made her look rather formidable.

Just as Maggie finished fastening the sword belt around Sansa's hips a page appeared in the doorway of her tent, head bent as he spoke. "My lady, the king wishes to see you at once. It seems there is some problem with the formation and would like your council in the matter."

Sansa shifted a little to let her body settle into the unfamiliar rigidity of armor and then followed the young man out into the darkness, Brienne and Podrick close behind.

When she found Aegon he was alone in his tent. There was no hide nor hair of battle plans or advisors, and at once she felt anxiety bubble up within her. Had he changed his mind? She had spent painstaking hours convincing Aegon and her brother to let her ride out with her men to the battlefield and had feared a last minute change of heart from one of them.

"Your grace." She said, and curtsied to the best of her ability and straightened with a smile on her lips. Worry aside, he did look resplendent in his armor, talk and dark save for his hair that seemed to glow like the three headed dragon of his house that burned in red on his chest.

He took a few steps towards her and then stopped, seemingly struggling with some inner turmoil, she just didn't know what.

"Sansa, while I would like to think that the fates favor us this day, there is something I should like to tell you now in case they do not."

"Aegon." She smiled and squeezed his hand, the other resting on his chest. "I will hear whatever it is you want to say, but say it with the knowledge that you will see me again."

He kissed her then, tender and urgent at the same time, eager to communicate what words could not. Her lips responded to his touch at once and it was familiar, like she had felt it long ago in another lifetime.

"For as long as I can remember I've cared about one thing and one thing only; to take back my family's kingdom and restore my name… Until I met you." He took both her hands between his own and knelt before her. "Over the last few weeks you've become my greatest ally, closest confidant, and so much more. I love you, Sansa, more than I thought I could ever love anyone."

By now, Sansa's heart was beating well beyond its normal pace and she swallowed, bracing herself for what she knew, or hoped, would come next. She'd spent the last few nights fearing that her newly realized affection for Aegon was one sided, convincing herself of it's truth, leaving her to believe that this would never happen.

"Ramsay Bolton will die today and you will be free. Marry me, and become my queen."

"Aegon…" It was neither protest nor affirmation, but all she could manage, her heart having leapt promptly into her throat.

"From the moment you appeared in that clearing I knew there was something about you. It's as though I've seen your face in the echoes of my dreams and somehow when I see you I know that you are my other half. You are the keeper of my heart and soul and fate has finally brought you back to me."

Sansa felt the heat on her cheeks burn greater and she looked away towards the still dark outside the tent. "And the time it could take to ehm, consummate?"

"Our marriage would be on your terms, guided by your comfort, that I swear to you. So I ask you again Sansa Stark, will you marry me? Will you help me conquer Westeros and rule beside me as my queen?"

"I will."

Without hesitation he rose and swept her into another kiss that seemed to go on and on. They stayed in one another's arms until the sound of approaching footsteps outside reminded them of their duty and they reluctantly broke apart.

"It will be time to march out soon." He said, kissing the top of her head. "We must join our men." He let go of her, a bittersweet smile on his face as he turned to leave.

Feeling as though he could take on Bolton's entire army single handedly, Aegon stepped out into the predawn darkness beside Sansa. Sure enough a veritable crowd of armed commanders stood outside, all waiting on his word to set out. The pair were the picture of dignified grace as they stepped out of the tent into the dark. Sansa was joined by Jon and Brienne, the former holding her horse steady by its reins.

"Today we march on Winterfell." Aegon addressed the crowd, a chorus of excited cheers going up in response. "Today, we liberate a populace that has suffered greatly under the Bolton rule. The return of this castle to the Stark family may prove to be the single most beneficial move we have made, and with it we will have over half of Westeros' support. You all know the risks. Snow could fall at any time and this close to winter could prove fatal to anyone without the proper provisions. In other words, us." The men grumbled and shifted uneasily. "We cannot be led into a situation where we must lay siege to the castle. We do not have the time."

He didn't mention the possibility that Ramsay could try to destroy whatever usable provisions may be left in the castle, but they would have to deal with that when the time came. "You all have your orders, we leave camp now."

Riding ahead of the main body of the army, Sansa and Jon carefully led them to the highest and most advantageous ground that could be found near Winterfell. Half of the combined Targaryen - Stark - Arryn forces broke off well before the rise of the hill, a move that was of Aegon's design. As he saw it, and Sansa agreed, there was no reason to let Ramsay see the full might of their army before it was necessary. Better he see less and think his chances of winning greater, as men often make bold, risky moves when victory seems assured. Looking back over her shoulder, Sansa couldn't help but think that even with half their men taken out of the equation the odds seemed stacked in their favor.

They reached the crest of the hill just as the sun broke so that she could see the light spilling over the land and revealing Winterfell below. The sight of it was heartbreakingly beautiful, and in the wake of her sudden engagement, was more bittersweet than she ever thought possible.

"It's been a long time since I last saw those walls." Her brother said, pulling up beside her. "Seems strange, coming home and knowing father isn't here."

"All the more reason to take it back. After all that was taken from him, from us… Winterfell belongs to our family." She said simply.

"You forget, I'm not a Stark." He said this with a light tone but she took it quite seriously and stared at him levely.

"And what a grievous error that is. One that will be rectified as soon as can be managed." She could see the questioning look on his face but she was saved from explanation by Aegon's sudden appearance.

The men around them had formed into battle lines and Aegon had come for Jon.

Sansa locked eyes with Aegon for a long moment but neither of them said anything. They'd said everything they could have back in that tent and now was the time to focus on the battle ahead, to win the lives they had just promised to spend together.

There were lines of troops outside surrounding the castle walls below and archers lined the battlements above, their keen eyes watching for the first sign of the enemy. When the sound of horns began to drift out over the fields, he knew they had been spotted.

From his vantage point at the front next to Conington and Snow, Aegon could see Ramsay's forces readying their weapons, though their lord was nowhere to be seen. This wasn't surprising. They had all known that unlike any true man, Bolton lacked the honor to lead his men in battle.

Between them and Bolton's troop stood nothing but open fields and the flayed, crucified bodies of innocent men and women placed there in an attempt to torment them. Still, they all sat, silent but for the noises of horses and shuffling feet. They would either wait for Ramsay to make the first move or draw him out. What they would not do is give up their advantage. There were lines of catapults, siege towers, and even two battering rams waiting at the ready. All had been painstakingly transported from the camp and while he was indeed reassured by their presence, he hoped desperately that they wouldn't need them.

After a great deal of time went by and nothing happened, Aegon grew impatient and raised his arm, signaling the catapults. Several of the machines were rolled forward and carefully positioned towards the men in front of the castle, as they were trying to minimize damage to the structure itself. Aegon shouted a short command and the pins were pulled, loosing hundreds of pounds of flying stone at Ramsay's forces.

This action had the desired effect and Ramsay's soldiers began to break formation and scatter. Some ran ahead towards the impending battle and while others turned back to the castle. Aegon saw this and rose in his stirrups, his sword held high above his head as his heart began to pound. "For Winterfell! For the North! For the Seven Kingdoms!"

He gave Sansa one last look before he turned and spurred his horse into action, charging forward.

Thousands of men joined Aegon's charge, all of them rushing past Sansa and her horse, who's eager snorts and general restlessness told Sansa that the horse thought they ought to be following suit. Holding the reins firm she kept her mount in place, her eyes fixed to the approaching forces below. Her heart shrank in horror as she watched, complete helplessness, as the two groups became one roiling bloody mass of limbs and metal.

From her vantage point on the crest of the rise she couldn't see particular people or make out faces, leading to a sense of mounting panic when she repeatedly failed to find Aegon or her brother among the fighting men. She urged her horse a few yards closer but to no avail and she cursed loudly. She couldn't stray closer without putting her person at risk, something she had explicitly promised not to do, and therefore sent two of her guards down the slope to get as close as possible without joining the fray themselves. They were charged with reporting back every few minutes, one of them always staying behind to continue their observation so that she might miss nothing. After all, it was up to Sansa to decide if and when to deploy their reserve forces, as she would have the best view of both the battle and the castle.

Aegon had Ramsay's men thoroughly occupied with trying to hold their sloppily reformed lines, but men who had fled the battle began to rush back out of the castle to join the endeavor. Despite this, she noticed with not a little satisfaction, the steady progress their army was making at pushing the Bolton men closer and closer to the castle. She watched this continue for some time until something changed, giving her an uneasy feeling. She focused on the movements of the men below, trying to see what had changed.

"There!" She said, her eyes following the trail of one of Bolton's men. He had peeled away from the battle and slipped inside the castle gates. "Why that sneaky little…" And then the implication of this action hit her like a brick wall and she spurred her horse into motion. Racing at breakneck speed toward Parlov, she reached him and the others in no time at all and immediately began to shout orders, recognizing they had precious little time to act if they were to be successful.

No one questioned the plan itself, only her intention to lead said march herself, which she chose to ignore completely. Was there more time she thought they might have fought her on the point further, but all recognized the need to move swiftly. The majority of the forces sped off towards the main battle while Sansa led around two hundred Northmen towards the rear of the castle. Sansa ensured that they kept well beyond the treeline as they circled her home, their mass of men being as quiet as hundreds of men on hundreds of horses could be.

Being downwind of the fighting all of their ears were perked for any sound of what might be a call to retreat, but they could hear the usual noises of the battle drifting towards them

As they came into position behind the castle Sansa knew they had made it just in time. The men inside were calling for the gates to be closed, and she could see two soldiers running at full tilt to do just that. She sent forward a group of her men to storm the small wooden gate before the men inside could manage to seal it and they funneled into the castle. Presumably Aegon and his forces had driven Ramsay inside and were laying siege to the main gate, giving Ramsay no way out now that she had advanced from behind.

The shouts and screams of men unable to make it inside the main gate of the castle were drawing near and the company of men that surrounded her drew their weapons. Parlov looked at her from atop his horse a few feet away and gestured for her to do the same. With a deep breath she pulled the sword from her belt and watched as men ran straight for them. There was a moment of great confusion as the enemy soldiers realized they had run directly into a trap, all of them floundering about as they tried to decide what to do next.

Some threw themselves down in surrender while others regathered their courage and charged, weapons poised to strike. Her small band of soldiers held their ground well, cutting down the tired men with ease until a fresh wave appeared on the heels of the last and the fighting grew bloodier and more vicious. Suddenly the fighting reached her place in the back and with something like detached clarity Sansa brought down her sword on a man's neck just seconds before his dagger reached her body. A second man nearly unseated her before she managed a less graceful yet still effective blow, freeing herself from his grasp.

Sansa took the opportunity to dismount her horse, unwilling to risk being thrown off.

Wheeling her head around she found one more man approaching from her left and turned, their swords clashing in a clang of steel on steel. He was stronger than her but his blade was heavier and much slower than her own that came up under his chin and plunged directly into his throat where it became lodged for a few terrifying seconds, Sansa screaming with effort as she wrenched it free.

The men that had witnessed these acts from the corners of their eyes cheered "For Stark!" and redoubled their efforts, each of them, including Sansa, personally ensuring that no man made it past their line. They continued on like this for what seemed like hours until the men that started to appear around the sides of the castle were their own, effectively closing in the last few strays.

The men from the front were excusably surprised to find Sansa at the back with the gate already taken and the retreat cut off, but wisely made no mention of it and instead filled her in on the progress of the battle.

"The main gate has been breached, my lady. I would have said to expect an end to the fighting soon, but I think it will be much sooner thanks to your efforts."

In fact sounds of fighting from within the castle were starting to fade and Sansa turned towards it, her sword held at the ready.

"My lady!" Parlov pulled up beside. "You can not enter the castle yet, it may not be safe."

"It is safe enough." She said, coming to a stop before the open gate. Further protests were made by several parties but no one actually made a move to stop her, and instead fell into a loose formation around her.

Winterfell looked devastated. Blood adorned almost every surface and bodies were strewn everywhere. Most of them were Bolton's but she recognized some of their own men and said a quick, silent prayer as she passed them. They had entered the castle from behind the godswood where men promptly began branching off from the party to check buildings for those seeking to hide. Her back straight and her eyes constantly moving they made their way deeper into the castle, headed for the courtyard.

They came to a narrow passage and were forced to cross one by one, windows of eerie blackness lining the passage on either side. She was almost half way through when the sound of glass shattering stopped her, making her turn around to see what had happened. A spear was sticking out of a soldier's head, blood dribbling down his face as he began to fall. More glass started to break and she ran, ducking down to avoid the thrusting spears overhead.

Once free of the passage Sansa stopped and turned around to face the men slipping out of the shadows, some holding spears, others holding swords or knives, all of them crazed with bloodlust as they inched closer. Sansa looked around, trying to count how men had made it through with her. They numbered eight including herself and faced ten, not the best of odds and still not the worst either.

"Protect your lady! Parlov shouted.

In response the men began placing themselves between herself and their attackers and then the fighting started at once. She was so wrapped up in the scene taking place before her that she never heard a sound, but surely felt the eruption of pain in her upper left arm, the feeling so intense that she nearly dropped her sword. She turned her head and her mouth fell open in disbelief, her mind somehow surprised to find an arrow sticking out of her arm. Whirling around she saw the man drop his bow and charge forward, a menacing piece of steel raised above his head. It was with great effort that she took her sword with two hands, bringing it up in time to parry his blow and side step away. The man laughed a little, looking down at her in amusement.

"So the little lady's gone and gotten herself a sword. It won't make no difference." He lunged again with a blow that would have taken her arm off had it connected but it missed her by inches and the momentum of his swing took him off balance. His blade struck the ground and became stuck, buried several inches deep in the frozen earth. Seeing her opening, Sansa raised her sword and brought it down on the back of his neck with vicious ferocity and then ripped it away. Blood sprayed in a sweeping arc across herself and the wall beside her and the man fell. Panting with exertion she took in great lungfuls of air as she turned in a slow circle, surveying the carnage around her. The brutality of it all struck her so heavily that she simply stood there, frozen in place.

Most of her men had made it through the fight with their lives, but none were uninjured. Like herself they sported a variety of wounds ranging from minor to very serious. Sansa hoped her own were minor, but judging from the looks she was getting from her men gave her a different impression.

She looked around the courtyard and to her great surprise, her eyes landed on Aegon. He approached from ahead, looking left, right, and all over, but somehow he hadn't seen her yet. His black armor was no longer complete, pieces were broken off or missing entirely and blood decorated the remaining pieces. She watched him, completely fascinated by this side of him. He was breathing heavily, his sword in his hand and a look in his eye that shook even her. He looked like a force of nature as he walked, as though nothing, not even the gods, could stop him on his path.

All of a sudden Sansa stumbled back, letting go of her sword. The adrenaline that had carried her so far was waning and she felt the very real need to sit down. She turned, running directly into Aegon who caught her, holding her up right.

"Sansa..." Aegon said, heedlessly tossing his sword to the ground so he could get a better hold of her. . "Gods, what has happened to you?"

The look of concern on his face was almost heartbreaking and for a moment she thought she might cry, but held it back behind a floodgate of ice. She would not show fear nor weakness in front of the men, not after how far she had come. Instead, like some daft fool, she said, "I've been shot with an arrow."

She saw that he had to muster some degree of patience to answer.

"I can see that. Come on, let's sit you down." He led her over to a small wooden bench and helped her down onto it. "What I would like to know is how. You're supposed to be…" He stopped talking as he took in the courtyard around him. "It was you… You led the attack from the north."

Not really paying attention to anything other than her arm, she nodded. "I would love to tell you all about it, but first I would very much like to get this arrow out of my arm." The pain that had been bearable at first was beginning to grow with each move of her body, sending bolts of white hot pain down through her arm.

"Brienne." Aegon said, picking the woman out of the crowd. "Go and find Snow, he's near the main gate. Tell him his sister is injured and he must bring a maester at once." This essential order out of the way, Aegon found a nearby wooden crate, pulled it over and sat down atop it. He cupped her cheek with one ungloved hand, sighing a little as he shook his head. "You could have let Parlov or any number of men lead that attack. In fact, I seem to remember you making a promise to myself and your brother that you would stay well away from the fighting. We even sent men to retrieve you from the hillside, but instead I find you in the middle of Winterfell covered in blood and an arrow sticking out of your arm."

She shrugged a little, her voice soft. "It was my plan. I had to take responsibility for it, no matter what that meant. And besides, this is my home, did you really expect me not to fight for it?"

He seemed to have some great internal struggle for a few moments then smiled at her, his face full of tenderness. "You put yourself at great risk today, but thanks to your efforts the retreat was cut off and further loss of life was prevented. You've done us all a great service." He brushed the hair away from her face and sighed, but with acceptance. "Let us see you tended and then you will tell me all about it, yes?"

"Yes." She said, her head falling forward to rest on his chest. The cold metal of his breastplate was soothing against her forehead and she exhaled with relief.

"For now," he said, moving to stand on her left side, "I'll need you to hold very still."

"Still?" She asked, turning her head just in time to see him grasp the arrow. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"The shaft is putting extra pressure on the wound, making it hurt more. I'll just break it off and the maester can remove the head once we get you inside. It will feel better after, I promise."

With uncertainty she nodded her head. "Fine. Do it."

Aegon took the shaft of the arrow in both hands, holding it steady. He kept his eyes fixed on hers so that she wouldn't look down. He counted back from three and snapped the wood a few inches away from her arm. There was an explosion of pain at the sudden movement but after a few excruciating seconds the pain became less and less.

He saw her eyes open and sighed with relief , his shoulders slumping a little with weariness as he looked down at her. "I must tell you before someone else has the chance to, Ramsay Bolton is alive."

"What?" She said, sitting up too quick in panic and becoming dizzy as a result. "Why?"

"Your brother stopped me. He said it should be you that decides how it is done. I think he's right."

She nodded in agreement, blinking slowly. She'd pictured killing Ramsay Bolton more times than she could count. She'd put thought into what exactly she would do to him if she ever had the chance, wanting him to know the full extent of her hatred for him and that she was the architect of his demise. What she hadn't pictured was having to carry out her revenge in front of a man she loved. She wasn't sure she wanted Aegon to see her in that light or to know what cruelties she was capable of when given enough cause.

She was spared from having to form any sort of response by the fortuitous arrival of both Jon's and the maester, Woollin.

Jon, like Aegon, was covered nearly head to toe in blood. Her brother looked down at her, and what patches of his face she could see were white with fear. "What in seven hells are you doing here? What happened?" This last question was directed with not a little anger at poor Parlov, who was taking quite a bit of grief on her behalf.

"It's not his fault, Jon. He couldn't have stopped me, and to his credit he did try." She smiled kindly at her bloodstained friend, then looked at Woollin with one eyebrow raised. "Well, Maester? Shall I keep my arm or will my king and my brother's worry be vindicated?"

The two men gave her equal looks of exasperation but turned their attention to Woollin, who grimaced a little and bowed his head. "You will keep the arm, my lady, however, we must remove the arrow head, and the sooner the better. They've informed us that the castle is safe, it would be best to move you inside. Can you walk?"

She began to nod and move to stand but a firm hand on her uninjured arm held her in place.

"She will be carried. There is a wound in her leg as well." Aegon said, his tone making it clear that while he couldn't deny the good in what she had done, he was still none so pleased that she had put herself at such great danger in the process.

Woollin and her brother began to carefully remove pieces of her armor, tossing them aside onto the ground. Once free, Jon moved to pick her up but Aegon raised his hand, stopping him. Wordless, Aegon bent and slid his arms underneath her, holding her with such care and tenderness that it was apparent to everyone in the courtyard and they all fell silent as their king carried her up the stairs into the keep. She could see the men below whispering curiously back and forth but chose to ignore them. If rumors about her and Aegon hadn't started yet, they would now.

The lord and lady's chamber had been in disuse since Roose Bolton's death so Sansa directed him there, Woollin and her brother following close behind. Once gently deposited into a chair it was unanimously decided by her caretakers that she would need to bathe, covered in blood and dirt as she was, and orders for hot water and handmaidens were dispatched. Sansa was delighted to see the straight backed form of Maggie appear a few minutes later, two young women on her tail.

In a business like manner the elderly woman summarily hustled all of the men out of the room and shut the door with something close to a slam.

Maggie turned narrowed eyes on Sansa, though her voice was kind and soothing as she helped Sansa stand. "Oh my poor dear, look at you. Whatever were you thinking? Getting so close to the fighting, you could have been killed. Why in the Mother's name would you do such a thing?" She raised a hand, beckoning the girls to step forward, who in short order stripped her bare, tossing her ruined and bloodied clothes outside to be burned.

"I couldn't just watch it happen. If they had lost-"

"If they had lost, the king had arranged for you to be taken to safety. To White Harbor and then to Essos. You would have been protected and cared for."

"How can I ask the men I love to fight for me if I will not fight for myself?"

Maggie rolled her eyes, trying tremendously for patience. "It is their duty. It is the plight of women to send their men to war, to watch them ride away with the knowledge they might never return. To keep home and hearth strong in their absence, to be constant, no matter how painful."

"No." Sansa said, her tone even and brokering no argument. "You say it is the plight of women, but it will not be mine. I refuse to stand by the way and let the world decide my fate."

Exasperated, Maggie sighed. Evidently deciding that this point would be easier made to a brick wall, she turned to supervise the filling of the tub, adding herbs and oils meant to soothe Sansa's muscles and aid in recovery. The two younger women used wet cloths to scrub her clean of blood and dirt before settling her gently into the fragrant water, careful to keep her open wounds out of the bath. With her injured forearm supported carefully by one of the girls they washed her hair, industriously combing out knots and tangles while Sansa dissolved into a state of complete tranquility.

When Maggie insisted the water had cooled too much Sansa rose with great reluctance, but found that her body responded with more ease than expected when she moved. There were vivid bruises cropping up all over her body but they no longer hurt greatly, only ached dully when pressure was applied. This seemed to please Maggie and once Sansa was decently robbed she graciously called out into the hall where the maester was waiting, a box of medicinal supplies in his arms.

Sansa watched as he laid out a needle and a bit of silk thread, her heart racing a little as he threaded the needle deftly and set it aside. Just then her brother appeared in the doorway, a bottle of some sort in his hand. Maggie bristled a little but said nothing as he crossed the room and sat down beside her. She didn't need to ask where Aegon was but Jon told her anyway.

"The king was called away to see the prisoners, but sent his apologies and a piece of advice." Jon pulled the cork from the bottle he was carrying and handed it to her. "Drink. It will help."

Not one to be picky in the current circumstances, Sansa took the bottle and took several large mouthfuls of what turned out to be very strong wine. She coughed a little and drank some more, finding her confidence restored greatly by the act.

Half an hour and eleven stitches later, Sansa sat white faced and sweating, everyone but her brother gone. The maester had deftly cut the arrowhead from her arm, stitched the wound and applied a poultice. The smell of garlic drifted from the bandages and she turned her head, wrinkling her nose.

After a time she took a deep breath and spoke.

"Where is he?" Sansa asked, her eyes watching the dancing flames in the lit hearth.

"In chains, in the crypts." Jon answered, his voice echoing softly in the large stone chamber.

She could see Jon looking at her out of the corner of her eye and she turned her head to face him. "He must die."

Her brother nodded solemnly. "The only question is how."

Sansa sighed in annoyance, gripping the arm of her chair. "I do not wish to give him the mercy of a quick death."

"To keep him alive and slowly torture him into his grave will bring you no joy or peace, Sansa. Killing him now is not a mercy for him, but for yourself. The best revenge you can take on Ramsay is to put him behind you forever, to live the life you were always meant to have."

Sansa nodded, understanding. "Aegon told you, didn't he?"

"He asked for my blessing, and I gave it." Jon said simply shrugging a little. "He didn't need it. I'm a bastard with no claim and no say, but he's an honorable man. He wouldn't marry you without knowing that the only family you had left supported it."

Taken off guard by this new piece of insight into Aegon's character, Sansa sat silent for a few minutes, her mind working. She felt tears begin to well up in her eyes and ruthlessly cut them off, sitting up straight with a new sense of certainty. "You're right. It's time to end this. Have him taken to the kennels at full dark. I will be waiting." She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, wanting desperately to be alone. "Now, dear brother, I should like to rest."

Jon looked reluctant to leave her but rose anyway, shutting the door to her room behind him. Sansa did not weep, but sat staring into the flames, enjoying the continuing effects of the wine. She had no sense of time during those long hours and sometime early in the afternoon she fell asleep in front of the hearth, her head lolling on her arm.

Having thought about them so much in the past hours her dreams filled with vivid images of her family, the bittersweet sense of peace and content she felt as a child underlying it all. When she woke up by herself in what had been her parent's room, confused and alone, she finally broke. Tears streamed down her face and onto her bodice, leaving little dark patches on the linen. Yes, she might have taken back their home, but never again would she see her mother and father sitting at the high table or her brothers and Arya training in the yard. She was the last true Stark in Winterfell, a fact that left her feeling hollow and very, very alone.

A knock at the door tore her out of her head and back into the present, making her start a little. She took a few deep breaths and called out, trying to keep her voice even. "Come in." She heard the door swing open and turned to find Aegon standing in the doorway. At once she rose and went to him, fresh tears beginning to fall as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come back sooner." He said, kissing the top of her head.

She sniffed a little, shaking her head. "Don't be. You're here now."

"Jon came to me. If you would permit it, I would like to go with you to the kennels."

Some part of her told Sansa that she should go alone, that she was strong enough to endure this after everything she'd been through, but she agreed anyway. It was true that she could do it herself, but she didn't have to, and in that moment knew then how wrong she had been moments ago. She wasn't alone, and never would be again. In all things she would have Aegon to stand beside her.

Arm in arm they walked through the cold dark night, the icy wind whipping their cloaks about their legs. Lights showed in the windows and arrow slits but the courtyard was largely empty, those present making themselves scarce.

The kennel sat recessed into a passageway, looking like nothing more than a large black hole in the darkness. She could hear the sounds of the agitated dogs inside, all of them half mad thanks to Ramsay and his constant abuse.

When they finally reached the black iron gate the light from their torch illuminated the space, revealing a hunched figure tied to a chair. A good sized pool of blood had formed underneath him and she felt triumph at seeing him so diminished.

Ramsay Bolton stared up at her through a broken, bloodied face, one eye completely swollen shut. With the way he looked it was a wonder he was alive at all, but that made little difference.

"My wife." He said, somehow managing to put a grin on his grotesque face. "Have you come to take pity on your poor husband?"

She felt Aegon bristle beside her and she squeezed his hand before stepping forward. "I have come to watch you die."

"After all we've been through together… I'm hurt." He laughed maliciously, spitting blood onto the ground. "You can kill me Sansa, but you will never be free of me."

"You're wrong about that. You have lost all your power over me." She laughed bitterly then herself, the sound cold even to her own ears. "You have lost everything. You will die and your pathetic house will die with you. No one will remember the name Bolton." With one gloved hand she reached out into the darkness and grasped the wooden lever to her left. As she pulled it the cages inside began to slide open, the noises from the animals within growing louder as they crept towards their doors.

"You think you've won?!" He shouted, looking left and right at the approaching dogs. "You've won nothing. You are nothing."

Aegon stepped forward then and glared down at the man inside, his voice dripping with malevolence. "She will be queen beside Aegon Targaryen. She will rule Westeros, and from her will come the next great line of Targaryen kings and queens while the name Bolton is quietly forgotten. She has won everything."

Ramsay began to scream in frustration, pulling at his bindings. This seemed to be all the encouragement the beasts required. They leapt on him with a ferocity she had never seen, tearing large chunks of his flesh away from his body while his screams slowly faded into silence. Together the two saw the life leave Ramsay's body and then turned, leaving the kennel and it's bloody contents behind.

The newly widowed Wardeness of the North slept for nearly an entire day, her mind and body both pushed too far past their limits, and when she woke much had changed. The bodies had been collected and burned, along with every last piece of Bolton's belongings. The Stark banners had been rehung throughout the castle, giving her a sense of pride every time she saw one.

They used this brief respite to begin the complete restoration of Winterfell, while the group of miners bound for Dragonstone took their leave of the castle.

A meeting was called one late afternoon, lords, and not a few ladies, filling the great hall from end to end. The Vale, Northern lords, and a few men from the Reach were present, all eager to hear what the king's next move would be.

Sansa was seated next to Aegon at the long table when he announced to the room that himself and Sansa would travel to Dragonstone to join the mining venture while Jon held the North in Sansa's place.

Looks of surprise and hesitation cropped up around the hall and Aegon smiled graciously as he stood, offering his hand to Sansa so that she might rise with him.

Together they stood as he announced, "The lady of Winterfell has accepted my hand in marriage."

She hadn't thought it possible but the room grew even quieter, the hesitation turning to fear, but Aegon was quick.

"Never have I seen a ruler so beloved by her people, nor a woman so devoted to their welfare. I understand that this must seem like a great loss to the North, so I would like to give you and your lady a great gift in return." He turned to Sansa, his face unreadable as he smiled down at her. "I name you, Sansa Stark, Queen of the North. While you will be my wife and Queen, the North will always be yours. It will be an independent nation, and your word alone will be law."

It took tremendous effort to keep her face from showing the flood of emotion she felt as men began to draw their swords and kneel, a chant of 'Queen of the North!' starting up. She locked eyes with Aegon and mouthed a silent 'thank you', a single tear slipping down her cheek.

Later that evening she sat alone with Aegon before the hearth in her room, Sansa nestled cozily against him while they talked about what kind of world they would make together and how they might best go about doing it.

"The messengers from the Reach are a good sign. If Olenna Tyrell would ally herself and Highgarden with us, we would be one step closer. The Stormlands and the Vale are ours, Dorne will soon follow." He sighed a little. "We've heard nothing from the Iron Islands since Euron took the throne but it's impossible to say where his loyalties may lie. They say he wants to marry a queen."

Sansa scoffed a little. "It doesn't leave him many options, does it?"

"No. Which is why we must secure my aunt's loyalty."

"What?" She sat up, looking down at Aegon in bewilderment.

"Right now she's a threat. Once I secure the Seven Kingdoms she could come across the sea with her dragons and take it all. We would be at risk, always."

"I know, but what is it that you mean to offer her that could possibly sway her ambitions?"

"She's repeatedly refused to meet with me in the past. She doesn't want to admit that I'm the rightful heir to the throne, but if I force her to meet me, she'll have no choice but to. If she's as just as they say she is, she'll recognize my claim and support me."

"Or she'll burn you." Sansa said, exasperated. "Do you really think she'll be content with Slaver's Bay?"

"If she really wants to see the Targaryen line restored she'll have to be. They say she had a child with her first husband, Drogo, and that it died during childbirth and left her barren. If she takes the throne it will all end with her."

"What makes you think that she cares?"

He shrugged a little. "If she doesn't care, why refuse to see me? If I am an imposter, why not see for herself so that she might proclaim it to the world? Besides, your brother said we need every man we can get. If we can gain her sympathies she may bring her men to fight with us against the dead. Or better yet, her dragons."

Nowhere near convinced Sansa became too restless and stood up, her bare feet making no noise as she crossed to the window. As much as she disliked his plan she didn't have a better one, not yet at least, and she couldn't deny the danger Daenerys presented. She felt Aegon's hand on her shoulder and reached her own up to hold it.

"You don't approve."

"I don't need to. You're the king."

"I am." He said, turning her around to face him. "But I would be a foolish king to not take the council of my queen."

"I'm not your queen. Not yet."

Aegon smiled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. "Must I wait and ask you again in three days?"

She rolled her eyes but a reluctant smile crept onto her own lips as well. She sighed a little, cupping his face in her hands. "All I want is for you to be safe."

"Then we must make peace, for the alternative is her death."

"You would kill her?"

"If it meant securing a safe future for you and Westeros, I would do it without a moment's hesitation."

Their conversation weighed heavily on Sansa's mind the next morning while she went about dressing, her attitude greatly diminished.

Maggie picked up on this and brushed her hair a little harder than necessary, snapping Sansa out of her thoughts. "I thought your spirits would have been high this morning. A queen in your own right and yet it looks like ice runs through your veins."

"My greater station comes with greater worries." Her voice was even, but she was comforted by the sense of familiarity she felt towards the older woman.

"Worries that can't wait until after your wedding day?"

Sansa could see Maggie's reflection in the mirror, her deft hands braiding long sections of Sansa's auburn hair. The woman's face was focused on the task at hand, but a frown creased her lips. Sansa cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. "Aegon plans to confront his aunt, to try and gain her loyalty."

This was enough to stop the woman in her tracks for a moment. "Mother help us all."

"My thoughts exactly."

Maggie opened her mouth to reply but there was a knock at the door. "Sansa!"

"Jon?" She stood, reaching for her cloak as the door opened. Jon stood in the doorway, obviously shaken.

"It's Bran." Jon said, his face full of conflicting emotions. "He's back."